


The Taming of the Wolf

by Amethystina



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Gen, Inspired by Beauty and the Beast (vaguely), M/M, Modern Setting, Panic attack (not very descriptive), SERIOUSLY ALL THE FLUFF, Slow Burn, Stiles is in college, just FYI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 105,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethystina/pseuds/Amethystina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles seeks shelter from the rain in a rundown house in the middle of the woods the last thing he expects is to find that someone is actually living there. Even less that the person in question isn't quite human. Derek is something else entirely.</p><p>Before he knows it Stiles is thrown into a world he knows very little about and while he enjoys the unlikely and complex relationship that sparks between them it's obvious that something darker is lurking in the shadows. Something from Derek's past that is just waiting to tear them apart.</p><p> <br/>Chapter 13, 14 and 15 are bonus chapters, featuring the same story but from Derek's POV (a total of 40 700 words). This is basically two fics in one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Burnt House in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> This idea jumped at me from nowhere and before I knew it I was writing it down. It turned into a 64 000 word behemoth aaaand here we are.
> 
> Like the tags suggest this is an AU vaguely inspired by the Beauty and the Beast, set in our present day. Werewolves exists but there have been some changes to the canon - mainly that the Hales lived in another city than Beacon Hills, which means that the show basically didn't happen, even if the backstories are the same. Like the Hale fire, Kate's involvement etc. It'll hopefully clear up as we go along.
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) beta'ed as always and let me tell you, she was all over this one xD So I hope that you will enjoy it too! :D There's fluff abound if nothing else! With a dramatic finish!  
> You can always find me over at my [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions!

 

* * *

 

Stiles hated biology. Or well, not really, but today he hated biology. He knew that it was his own fault because the course had been optional, but Stiles was far too eager to experience everything that college had to offer to decline such an opportunity. What he hadn't accounted for was the practical assignments he was expected to complete.  
  
Okay, that was a lie too because they had been presented in the course outline and syllabus, but Stiles had sort of forgotten about it until the very last minute. Or postponed it, more correctly. If Stiles had been any less determined to keep his high grades he might just have ignored the assignment altogether because going out into the woods in search for different kinds of moss wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. At least not when Lydia was going to a party and Stiles could have come along, if it hadn't been for his looming deadline.  
  
"I don't want to goooooo..." Stiles whined pathetically, haphazardly sprawled on their couch, close enough to Lydia's room that she could hear his woes despite being busy getting ready for the party. Never mind that it was three hours until is started. Girls are weird.  
  
"If you had done your assignment two weeks ago – like everyone else – you wouldn't be having this problem," Lydia called back, heartless and cruel in the face of Stiles' suffering.  
  
"I was busy!" Stiles gestured towards the ceiling. "With other-... things."  
  
He thought that he heard Lydia sigh before the soft jingle of her bracelets made him look up. She was standing in her doorway, leaning against the doorpost with her arms crossed over her chest.  
  
"You were lazy, Stiles. And the sooner you get out there the sooner you'll finish."  
  
Stiles should have known better than to come to Lydia for compassion. She was fierce and unrelenting when it came to academia and had no patience for those who slacked off. But Stiles wasn't slacking off exactly, he just hadn't felt like venturing so far out of town in the middle of October. It had started to get pretty chilly and his trusted, battered Jeep wasn't quite made for that kind of weather. The drive was going to be uncomfortable and only serve to aid his misery.  
  
"Stop whining, get up, get in your car, find the moss and then come back. If you're lucky you might even make it on time for the party." Lydia tossed some strawberry blonde curls over her shoulder. "Well, the end of the party at least."  
  
Stiles groaned and covered his face with his hands. He knew she was right. He was too responsible to show up in class and pretend that he had forgotten about the assignment. Not to mention that his dad wouldn't be pleased if he found out that Stiles was avoiding doing his homework.  
  
He let his hands flop down on the couch beside him and heaved a big sigh.  
  
"Alright. I'm going."  
  
He only saw her in his peripheral vision but he was pretty certain that Lydia was rolling her eyes.  
  
"Finally. Get out of my face – I have preparations to make."  
  
Stiles dragged himself up from the couch just in time to see Lydia's turn and disappear into her room again, her curls dancing from the movement. A slight smile lingered on Stiles' lips when he collected his jacket, backpack and car keys.  
  
"Remind me again why I agreed to share an apartment with you?" he shouted to her as he double checked that he had everything he needed before heading for the door.  
  
"You didn't," Lydia replied without missing a beat, "you begged me to let you stay with me because it was the only way that you would be living in anything bigger than a shoe box."  
  
"Oh right..." he mumbled to himself before grinning. "And by the way, we're out of milk!"  
  
"Wha-! Stiles! I've told you a hundred times not to-"  
  
The rest of Lydia's rant was cut short as Stiles hurried out the door and shut it firmly behind himself. It was petty but also one of the few ways he could win an argument against Lydia. Even if he had gotten over his crush on her during their senior year in High School he still adored her, to the point where he might let her get the upper hand sometimes. Not that she needed it considering how much smarter she was.  
  
Stiles was still one of the few who dared and was allowed to go against her and let her know when she was being a bit of a bitch, which was probably why they worked surprisingly well as room mates. She kept him motivated and he kept her decent. It was an arrangement that was beneficial to both, even if Stiles was pretty sure that Lydia was the one who got the short end of that stick considering that she had to put up with him on a regular basis.  
  
Stiles jogged down to his Jeep and threw his backpack onto the passenger seat before climbing in. He glanced at his watch, counting the hours it would take to drive and to find the infernal moss. He could make it back in time for the party, if he hurried.  
  
As he turned the key he glanced up at the sky, frowning at the thick, grey clouds hanging overhead. That could be bad. But it only gave him all the more reason to finish quickly.  
  
With that in mind he peeled out from the parking lot and followed the road signs pointing him in the direction of the reserve located just outside the town border.

About three hours later Stiles was cursing up a storm while trudging through the dense undergrowth. He was lost, still had one moss to go and his feet ached. It was probably going to start raining too, just to spite him. He could hear a distant rumble and every time he looked up he saw the threatening, dark clouds between the tree branches. That wasn't good at all.  
  
He was definitely not dressed for rain with his sneakers, jeans and hoodie, even with a jacket on. He would be soaked within minutes and quietly cursed his professor for giving the assignment, himself for not having done it earlier and Lydia for convincing him to do it now. Basically anything he could pin the blame on.  
  
His backpack, which hadn't felt heavy at all during the beginning of his excursion, was digging uncomfortably into his shoulders and back. He should have brought less textbooks, but since there was no cell reception – even less some WiFi – he had to rely on them to make sure that he had found the right moss. And he had, all but one.  
  
He couldn't exactly say that he was looking for the last one though, not anymore. Now he just wanted to get back to his Jeep and go home. He could probably fake having found it anyway. His sense of responsibility only stretched so far when he was in danger of getting drenched in rain.  
  
As if on a cue the ominous rumble rose in volume to the point where Stiles could almost hear thunder cracking. A second later the first drops of rain came pattering down through the lacework of leaves above his head. Stiles groaned and pulled up his hood, even if he knew that it wouldn't offer much protection if it started to rain in earnest.  
  
At first it seemed like he might just get away with a light drizzle but after another couple of sharp thunderclaps it came pouring down like an unforgiving torrent. It didn't take long before he was uncomfortably soaked and walked with squelching shoes. The terrain became increasingly difficult to navigate too, with the earth turning into slippery mud.  
  
Stiles had stopped cursing by then in favor of glowering sullenly at the ground, mindful of where he put his feet to avoid tripping. Worst assignment ever. And he still didn't know where he had parked his car. Had he been less angry he would probably have felt worried at the thought of being lost in an unfamiliar part of the woods without any means to find his way back, but now he was more concerned with the bad weather. Besides, judging by the map he had studied at the entrance to the reserve it wasn't all that big. He would find civilization eventually.  
  
The thought had barely crossed his mind before he caught a glimpse of something between the trees. He frowned softly, debating whether it would be a good idea to investigate further. If it was some kind of shelter he could wait the rain out – or at least the worst of it – and then find his way back to his car. It would probably be dark by then but at least he wouldn't be forced to walk through the downpour. All things considered that was as good a plan as any and Stiles changed direction, heading for the big, blocky shape.  
  
His sneakers skidded on the wet leaves but he eventually managed to get up the small hill and could feast his eyes on what was most likely one of the few sound structures within his immediate vicinity. Well, to call it a sound structure might be a bit of a stretch since it looked more like a ruin than anything else, but beggars can't be choosers.  
  
Stiles heaved a soft sigh of relief while heading for the house. It was beyond run down – it looked just about ready to collapse really – but he'd take anything. Even something that looked like it had been plucked right out of a horror movie.  
  
As he came closer he started noticing some oddities though. While it was definitely a ruin with parts of the roof and walls caved in there were segments that had been newly added. Mismatching additions, sure, but it seemed almost as if someone had tried to repair it, if a bit haphazardly and without much structure. From what he could see, when he stopped just in front of the grey, looming house, there might be enough patches to make parts of the house dry. Perhaps even enough to make it possible to live there.  
  
Stiles hesitated, looking at the porch and front door. The scorch marks and charred wood suggested that the house had been submitted to one heck of a fire sometime in its past but here and there someone had nailed a board to cover up a hole or stabilize it. Someone could be living there.  
  
It sounded preposterous since Stiles couldn't understand why anyone would want to, but he still felt extra cautious when he carefully climbed the steps leading up to the porch. The wood creaked and groaned in something eerily similar to a wailing complaint and Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine. Still, being out of the rain was a relief so he slowly inched closer to the flaking, worn door.  
  
The sharp shriek the hinges gave off when he pushed it open was unsettling, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. To his surprise he felt a slightly warmer gust of air brush against him when he took the first step inside. It was quiet too, the rain falling on the roof only a distant patter.  
  
The inside of the house was in no better condition than the outside – at least at first glance. The staircase leading to the second floor was burnt and decaying so he knew for a fact that he wouldn't be going up there. He did catch a glimpse of furniture in the rooms next to the foyer though but he had no idea what shape they were in.  
  
"Hellooo?" Stiles called out cautiously, ignoring how croaked he sounded.  
  
He was man enough to admit that he was at least a little freaked out. The house was spooky and the thought of someone living there – out in the middle of nowhere in a rundown shell of a building – wasn't exactly comforting. He had no idea what kind of person would do that but a murdering psychopath seemed like a valid guess.  
  
There was no reply and Stiles wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing. He pulled his hood down and scratched a hand through his hair while glancing around. It felt like he wasn't supposed to be there. He couldn't deny that it was a relief to be out of the chilly rain though.  
  
Despite the damage the inside of the house was dry and actually a little cozy, in a spooky, haunted house kind of way. Stiles slowly made his way into one of the connecting rooms, slightly surprised to find that it looked quite habitable. Some of the windows had been covered with boards – probably for insulation –, the furniture were banged up and quite old but even with the dust and cobwebs it wasn't as bad as Stiles would have thought. Still far from reasonable standards but definitely enough to keep him dry and comfortable while he waited for the rain to ease up.  
  
He sighed and sank down in the nearest armchair, surprised to find that it was actually pretty comfortable, despite being a little lumpy and smelling vaguely of wet dog. He dumped his backpack at his feet and stared up at the blackened ceiling. It too had been patched in some vain attempt to make the house able to withstand the cold and dampness better.  
  
Stiles felt like an intruder. This could be someone's home – doubtful as that was – and he was being pretty rude just stomping inside and flopping down in someone else's armchair. But his feet definitely thanked him as he slumped lower, wiping a hand across his face to get rid of some of the remaining raindrops.  
  
He closed his eyes and took a slow, careful breath. This hadn't gone as planned. He was just supposed to finish his assignment and get back in time to spend some time at the party, not get lost in the woods during a thunderstorm and wind up squatting in a ramshackle house that might or might not be abandoned. His life, seriously.  
  
Minutes passed were Stiles focused mostly on letting his feet rest and the sound of rain beating against the roof. It was peaceful almost, especially when he kept his eyes closed and avoided being reminded of where he was.  
  
It was probably his own exhaustion and lack of interest that made him less attentive than he should have been. It took him several minutes to pick up on another sound – one much closer than the trickle of rain – and his eyes snapped open the moment he finally heard it. Crackling. Something was crackling.  
  
He sat up straighter, looking around until he spotted a thin line of golden light, sneaking out from under a closed door at the other end of the room. It flickered and danced and eventually Stiles realized that it had to be a fire.  
  
During one panicked moment he thought that the house might still be on fire, until the rational part of his brain reminded him that the damage to the house had been done years ago. He still swallowed before slowly rising from the armchair. A fire meant people. It meant that someone else was there.  
  
Stiles knew that this was where he should probably turn around and leave. Just pick up his backpack and get out of there, despite the rain and the no doubt long walk back to his Jeep. He had no idea what kind of person he could be dealing with and it wasn't just dangerous to linger but stupid as well. He was curious though. He had always been curious. Less so than in high school but old habits die hard and it was just so odd for someone to living out there, in the middle of nowhere.  
  
So before he had time to stop himself he was inching towards the closed door, feeling both a little guilty and exhilarated. He couldn't hear anything besides the rain and the crackle of the fire but he still hesitated when his fingers brushed against the cold door handle. He was holding his breath when he finally turned it and pushed the door open.  
  
This door didn't creak at all and Stiles stopped in utter bafflement when he saw the room that had been hidden behind it. It was _cozy_.  
  
It might be partly because of the warm, flickering glow from the fireplace and its dancing flames, but it looked really comfortable. It was small but not cramped, with few pieces of furniture besides a pretty large bed, a dresser, a couch and two stray chairs. Books were stacked on the dresser and chairs and there was a pile of clothes in one corner. Someone was _definitely_ living there. And it didn't look half bad.  
  
It was obvious that the person wasn't there now though – Stiles didn't even have to look around to know that. There was nowhere to hide in the small, den-like room.  
  
Stiles was intrigued. How did it even work to live out here? Was there electricity? Running water? Where did he or she cook?  
  
Stiles took a sneaking step into the room, knowing quite well that he was invading someone else's privacy. He wasn't going to go and poke around in the underwear drawer but he wanted to know more. As long as he didn't touch anything it would be fine.  
  
He tilted his head to the side to be able to read the book titles and he was honestly quite surprised by the variety in genres. Then again, it looked almost like a collection influenced by what was available rather than conscious choice. Some books were old and damaged – the kind that would usually make people throw them out – while others were slightly newer but still had the lingering air of second hand ownership to them.  
  
Stiles hummed thoughtfully to himself while throwing a glance towards the clothes tossed in the corner. Judging on the size he would guess male but it wasn't really much to go on and he was so not going to be a creep and look closer.  
  
The room fascinated him. It was like a small bubble of coziness and warmth in the middle of the wild, ruthless woods. He probably wouldn't be able to stand it because of the serious lack of Internet and other modern necessities, but he could understand the appeal. It felt sheltered and safe – like a haven. And, perhaps a little too late, Stiles realized that he had just violated that haven.  
  
That made Stiles feel pretty guilty, enough to make him throw a quick glance around the room before he backed out again. He was just about to close the door when he heard it.  
  
At first he thought that it was just the rumble of thunder but he realized rather quickly that it was far too close for that. And sounded far too animalistic. A second later he identified it as a growl. A low, furious growl that made his entire body freeze from terror. That could not be good.  
  
Stiles turned around slowly, afraid that if he moved too fast he would somehow provoke whatever it was that was in there with him. He was almost too afraid to look and his breath caught when he saw the shape of _something_ lingering in the furthermost corner of the room Stiles had first stumbled into.  
  
It was difficult to see clearly what with the darkness falling outside and the barred windows but there was definitely something there – something that was growling menacingly at him. Stiles knew that it hadn't been there before. He would have noticed, if nothing else because of the two bright blue eyes that seemed fixed on him, glowing softly in the dark room.  
  
Stiles swallowed and pressed himself against the doorframe, too afraid to move. He had no idea what it was. He couldn't see it clearly and he tried desperately to remember what kind of animals there were in these woods. None of them should have those kinds of eyes though. Stiles came up blank and could only watch, petrified, as the shape moved a little closer, the growl still vibrating through the air.  
  
His heart was beating furiously in his chest and his fingers grasped for purchase against the wall, as if that would help him remain stable – or save him somehow. He was going to die. He was going to get eaten by some wild animal in the middle of the woods and his remains would rot there forever, unknown and forgotten. His dad would never get closure.  
  
Stiles stared, transfixed, at the glowing, blue eyes and held his breath when the creature crept even closer. Stiles didn't know what to do. He started moving along the wall, hoping that he could get far enough to dash for the doorway and get away before the creature caught him.  
  
It was that change in position and consequentially the direction of light that allowed him to catch a glimpse of a silhouette – a strangely human-looking one. Stiles faltered. Human? How was that possible? No animal had those kinds of eyes and definitely no human either.  
  
Before Stiles had time to consider it further the creature cornering him obviously lost its patience. The growl grew into a feral, snarling roar and Stiles barely had enough time to see that _something_ lunged at him before his reflexes kicked in. He ran.  
  
His hip bumped into a couch but the panic was strong enough to urge him on, telling him not to stop. For the love of God, do not stop. He burst into the foyer a second later, wrenched the door open and stumbled down the porch steps without looking back. He was too terrified to look back.  
  
Stiles feet slipped and skidded on the wet ground – the rain still beating down on him from above – but he couldn't care less. Another roar shook the house and the surrounding trees, birds fleeing in a flurry of flapping wings and shrill cries. Stiles wanted nothing more than to get out of there.  
  
He took no real notice of where he went or how far he ran, but when he eventually stopped he nearly slumped to the ground from exhaustion. He was panting and shaking, barely able to breathe through the panic. He had no idea what that had been and what was going on in that house but he sure as hell wasn't going to go back there. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to know what kind of animal it was.  
  
Stiles swallowed, wiped the rainwater from his brow and drew a couple of hacking breaths. Shit. That had been close. Far too close.  
  
He forced himself to keep moving, if only because he didn't want to be caught by the creature if it decided to follow him. He couldn't afford to linger.  
  
It wasn't until he eventually managed to find his way back to his Jeep, forty minutes later, that Stiles realized that he had left his backpack behind. 

"I'm serious, Lydia! There's something out there!" Stiles gestured wildly, pacing back and forth in front of the couch in which Lydia was seated, calmly eating from her tub of ice cream.

Lydia didn't usually indulge in those kinds of things but Stiles assumed that she allowed herself the treat because Stiles had called her – in a panic – and made her come home early from the party.

He hadn't actually _asked_ her to do it, she had just decided on her own that she should. Probably because Stiles had sounded about an inch from a panic attack and that hadn't happened in a long time. He had recovered from the worst of them over the years but now he was tipping dangerously close to the edge again, which Lydia apparently found unsettling even if she didn't say so out loud. The way she barely let her gaze drift from him was pretty telling though.

Once he had gotten back Stiles had peeled off his clothes and jumped into the shower, mostly to stop the shaking and push back the worst of the cold. When he had emerged dressed in sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt Lydia was already home, waiting with a mug of hot chocolate that Stiles had downed so quickly that his throat still felt sore and slightly scalded.

After that Lydia had calmly asked what was going on and after many detours and halting assurances that he was fine Stiles had managed to explain that there was someone – or _something_ – living in an abandoned house in the woods. The ice cream had made an appearance around that time and Stiles had the distinct feeling that if Lydia hadn't seen exactly how upset he was she would have been laughing at him. It was a rather ludicrous claim and Stiles wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it himself.

Back in high school he might have been more ready to accept strange creatures with glowing eyes but now he felt confused and out of his depth.

"You must admit that it sounds pretty unbelievable," Lydia pointed out, not entirely without reason. Her voice was softer than usual though and he took a certain amount of comfort in that. Stiles sighed and ran his hands through his hair – they had almost stopped shaking by then.

"I know," he groaned, stopping in front of the couch before flopping down next to Lydia. "I just... there was something there. I saw it. It chased me out of the house and I-... I don't know what it was."

Lydia sighed and rearranged herself until her feet were resting in Stiles' lap. The weight of them against his thighs was strangely reassuring, not matter how small they were. It made him feel grounded. The worst of the panic had faded by then and her closeness definitely helped to ease away the last remnants of fear.

"I'm considering asking you whether you found any strange mushrooms you just happened to eat," she said before lifting another spoon of ice cream to her lips. Stiles smiled crookedly, leaning his head against the backrest of the couch.

"I barely believe it myself, alright? But I know what I saw and it-... for a moment it looked human." He frowned, turning his head to look at Lydia. "Is that even possible?"

She raised a fine, delicate eyebrow.

"For humans to have glowing, blue eyes? Really, Stiles? You have to ask?"

He sighed and let one of his hands land on her ankle. Had he been younger he would probably have freaked out at the feel of her bare skin under his palm but now he knew that nothing would ever happen between them. She wasn't interested and he had grown out of it. He wasn't sure if he had ever really wanted her in a sexual context anyway. It had been a dream, nothing else.

"And my backpack is gone," he muttered sullenly. "Those books cost a fortune."

"You bought them second hand."

"Yeah, still cost a fortune!" Stiles defended. He didn't have as much money as Lydia did. The mere fact that they lived in the apartment that they did was more thanks to her than him, and her parents' insistence that she deserved only the best. Stiles came from a far humbler background.

"Well, you could always try and get them back." Lydia shrugged and Stiles stared at her as if she was insane. Because she clearly was.

"Excuse me? I just told you that there's a man eating monster out there with glowsticks for eyes and a taste for Stileses and you want me to go _back_?" Stiles voice rose and octave or two during his rant, his hands flailing in frustration, but Lydia didn't do much else besides give him a slightly concerned, thoughtful look.

"Did you just invent a plural form for your own name?" She gestured vaguely towards his face with her spoon.

"Yes. Yeah, I did. But the point is that I'm not stupid! What if the monster is still there?"

"Stiles, a moment ago you said that it might be human, not a monster," she replied with a subtle eye roll, "and I'm not saying that you should, only that you _could_. Well, if you manage to find your way back there, of course. Otherwise you'll just have to accept the books as lost."

Stiles reached out for the tub of ice cream, aiming to drown his sorrows, but Lydia kept it out of his reach with a sharp, reprimanding glare.

"It's not that bad." He at least tried to remain hopeful. "I can always buy new ones."

Lydia scoffed.

"And do the excursion all over again because your notebook with the assignment was in your backpack too," she pointed out in her usual, no-nonsense tone.

Stiles froze. He hadn't thought of that. He had lost all the progress he had done and would either have to start all over again or try to get it back. But he didn't want to return to the burnt out house and face whatever menace seemed to live there. A menace that could read, but still.

He groaned and tipped to the side, until he was practically leaning against Lydia's side, squished between her and the couch cushions. It was actually quite nice.

"I am doomed," he lamented, not surprised in the least when Lydia just huffed in vague annoyance. She did offer him a spoon of ice cream though and he counted that as a win.

"It will be fine," she assured, but it sounded a little like something she said just because that's what you usually did in these kinds of situations.

Stiles decided to let that slide and just accept the tragedy for what it was. He had lost his backpack, his books and what he had managed to scribble down on his assignment. No biggie. It was all replaceable and he'd rather take that over going back. Yeah, it would be fine. No need to make any hasty decisions.

Two days later, the day before his deadline, he was driving back towards the reserve, muttering encouragements under his breath. In the days that had passed he had managed to convince himself that it had all just been his imagination, brought on by the strain of hiking around in the woods. There was no creature. No monsters living in the woods. No one was going to eat him. It was all fine.

And if Lydia ever asked where the Taser she had gotten from Allison had gone Stiles could always lie and say that someone stole it.

His fingers were tight around the steering wheel and he kept his eyes firmly on the road. He was just going to go back there, find his backpack and then leave – nothing else.

And if one small part of him – that geeky, adventurous boy that lingered inside him – was actually kind of curious, he ignored that entirely.

He was only going to pick up his backpack.

 


	2. The Wolf

 

* * *

 

Finding his way back to the house proved both easier and more difficult than planned. Stiles parked at the same place and entered the reserve on the same path but after that he had no idea how to get intentionally lost and stumble over it again. He had a vague grasp on what direction he had come from when he had finally found his Jeep after fleeing from the house, but it only got him so far.

As luck would have it the reserve still wasn't very big and it didn't take long before he started seeing things he recognized. And eventually he stumbled over an actual road. It wasn't a big one and barely used considering the layer of leaves and dirt that covered it, but a house that big had to have had a road leading up to it, right? Stiles hadn't exactly thought about it when he was running for his life but it seemed reasonable, so he started walking. A road meant that he probably wasn't on the reserve anymore, but he was definitely still in the woods.

His nerves were strung tight, making him jump at the smallest of sounds and Stiles gripped the Taser he had hidden in his pocket. It didn't exactly calm or reassure him but at least he had means to defend himself if it came to that. He didn't hear much besides the occasional flutter of bird wings or the wind blowing between the trees.

It was almost a surprise when he turned around a bend and could see the house looming in the distance, in what had probably been a much bigger clearing before the house became abandoned and the woods reclaimed it. Stiles could actually imagine it being a grand house before it burned down, all big and imposing.

He swallowed and slowed his steps to something more cautious. Stiles had no idea what to expect but his grip around the Taser tightened until it almost hurt, the sharp edges digging into his palm.

When he managed to reach the front porch without running into whatever creature he had seen the first time he felt a little better. But only a little, since his backpack was _inside_ the house, and last time he checked so was the monster. Stiles swallowed and scaled the porch steps as quietly as he possibly could, but the wood was old and worn, creaking under the soles of his shoes no matter how much he tried to avoid it.

His hand shook when he placed his fingertips against the flaking door and pushed it open, the hinges wailing in complaint. The foyer looked pretty much like it had before, dusty, run down and with some occasional dry, dead leaves for good measure. It really looked abandoned but Stiles knew better. He had seen what was inside.

Stiles took a deep, stabilizing breath. Just find the backpack and leave again. He didn't have to do more than that. Just rush inside, grab it and then out again, before he had time to be ambushed by the creature.

He couldn't hear anything – not even the distant crackle of a fire – and took the first steps inside before he had time to change his mind. He briefly wondered if he would even find his backpack in one piece, since there was no telling what a wild animal would do to it, but to his surprise it was almost exactly where he had left it. But only almost.

Someone had placed it on the seat of the armchair instead of the floor in front of it. Stiles didn't know why but he wasn't going to question his luck and resolutely grabbed one of the straps. He had gotten halfway through the motion of slinging it over one shoulder when he caught a movement in the corner of his eye and froze.

He swallowed harshly before slowly turning his head. He couldn't see clearly into the next room – the cozy, inhabited one – despite the door being partway open, but there was definitely someone there. A figure lingering just a little too much to the right for Stiles to see them clearly. But it was obviously human, with dark hair if he wasn't mistaken.

"Uh... hi. I just came to get my-... uh... backpack," Stiles offered lamely, because if it was human he could hopefully reason with him or her. Stiles guessed on a him, judging on what he had seen the last time he was there. And the sheer broadness of those shoulders.

The vague hope of not getting eaten or brutally mauled was smothered the moment that thunderous growl started echo in the bare house again – coming from the person in the other room. Stiles sucked in a sharp, surprised breath when that brilliantly blue glow sparked up again. He stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over a side table, but the man was already moving.

Stiles' backpack hit the dusty floor with a thud and Stiles shoved his hand into his pocket, searching desperately for the borrowed Taser. It all happened so fast and he wasn't sure what to think when he saw the man's face clearly. It wasn't human. Stiles was far too freaked out to categorize it further than that but it was more than enough. That man wasn't human.

Stiles' back banged against a wall about the same time as he managed to pull the Taser from his pocket. His heart was beating in a terrified, staccato beat and he was pretty sure that he wasn't breathing. Stiles took aim but between one blink and the next the man had moved closer, faster than humanly possible. He was suddenly just there, a clawed hand closing around the Taser and pushing it violently to the side. Stiles still held it but the crack of plastic and the fact that it was pointing at the ceiling rather than what he wanted to hit made it virtually useless.

The man's other palm slammed against the wall next to Stiles' head, sending a shock through the frail wood and making Stiles jump. He was terrified. He wasn't sure if he had ever been so terrified in his entire life. It felt like time slowed to a halt and all he could do was stare back into those shining, blue eyes that glared into his.

Stiles held his breath, not sure what he was waiting for and what would happen next. The man – if he could be called such – looked like nothing Stiles had ever seen. He could have passed as mainly human if it hadn't been for his face, which had a heavy brow and seemed twisted in a constant snarl with sharp, canines and those burning, blue eyes. There was a rather abundance of hair too and pointier ears than common for humans. Not to mention the claws – which were digging into the wooden planks just next to Stiles' ear. Stiles swallowed.

"Wow."

He couldn't think of much else to say because this was pretty unbelievable, no matter if he was terrified or not. And it wasn't like the man attacked. He could easily have done it – just one big chomp with those teeth and Stiles would be dead – but he didn't. If Stiles didn't know better he'd almost think that they were both equally confused and uncertain about the situation.

The growl rose in volume but the man seemed to hesitate, as if he expected Stiles to fight him off and make a run for it, but didn't know what to do now that he didn't. Perhaps Stiles could have but something kept him from it.

"Just-... wow."

Stiles was staring – he knew that he was staring – but he couldn't stop. He had never seen anything like it and he didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, despite the fangs, claws and menacing growl.

That might have been why Stiles raised his free hand, his fingertips soon brushing against the man's chin. To Stiles' surprise the man recoiled, the growl cutting off abruptly while he backed several steps. The look Stiles received was wary and confused, as if Stiles was the one to be afraid of. Talk about shift in atmosphere.

"Whoa! No, it's okay!" Stiles held up his hands as if to show that he was unarmed, only to realize that he was still clutching the Taser. He quickly tossed it aside before showing his empty palms. "It's fine. Sorry. I just-... what are you?"

The fear had given way for curiosity and Stiles slowly took a step closer, only to have the man match it, easing away from Stiles. It was quite ridiculous because even if they were pretty much the same height the man was built like a line backer with broad, muscular shoulders and thick arms, partly bare thanks to the short sleeved t-shirt. Stiles wouldn't stand a chance in an actual brawl.

Stiles cleared his throat.

"Okay... then, what's your name?" Stiles tried instead. The man clearly wasn't human – exclusively at least – but he had to have a name.

The only reaction Stiles got was a frown. Or at least he suspected that it was a frown. It was a bit difficult to tell when the man's standard expression seemed to be scowl.

"Come on. I've seen your books. I know you understand English." Well, unless the man collected the books for decoration instead of for reading, but that didn't seem entirely probable. "Just tell me your name."

That was definitely a frown, before the man shook his head.

"No. You leave." The voice was raspy and rumbling, probably from disuse, or perhaps whatever it was that made him look like a lot like a werewolf from the old movies, now that Stiles thought about it. Which was actually kinda cool.

"He speaks! Well, like Tarzan but still." Stiles smiled, trying to aim for reassuring while he took another subtle step forward. There was no recoil this time and Stiles counted that as a win. "Me Stiles. You...?"

There was an insulted scoff and Stiles couldn't help grinning.

"My name is Derek," the man replied, obviously to prove a point of actually being able to string more than two words together. It still seemed somewhat difficult and some of the syllables were a little garbled, but Stiles was pretty certain that it was because of the fangs and how they affected the position and angle of Derek's jaw, not lack of verbal skills.

"Derek? Awesome. I'm Stiles." He would have held out his hand for a shake but knew that the other man wouldn't take it. And Stiles wasn't quite prepared to put himself within reach of those claws either.

"Fine. Now leave," Derek practically growled before turning to head back to what was obviously his room. Stiles followed.

"Hey, wait! You can't just expect me-" Stiles fell short when he ran into Derek's open palm, the impact nearly knocking the breath out of him. Derek was keeping him at an arm's length, obviously to prevent him from following, but for some reason Stiles couldn't feel the bite of his claws. He knew that they were there but Derek seemed to be making an effort to avoid letting them dig into Stiles' chest. Huh.

"Take your backpack and leave."

Stiles looked into Derek's eyes, only to notice that they weren't shining blue anymore. Instead they were some complicated shade of hazel, but it was a little difficult to tell in the limited light and with the general bone structure of Derek's face.

Stiles wet his lips a little nervously.

"No."

Derek turned to face him fully and yeah, that was pretty darn intimidating and Stiles struggled not to cower.

"Leave," Derek growled, pointing towards the front door. Stiles couldn't quite tell if Derek was as angry as he looked because he looked angry all the time. But Stiles didn't want to leave. Derek was fascinating and there had to be a story behind that face of his. And the claws. And the fangs.

It suddenly made a lot more sense for Derek to be living out there, in the middle of nowhere. Stiles assumed that most people wouldn't react with his curiosity when they saw someone like Derek. Who was decidedly something more than just human. The question was what.

"Are you a werewolf?" Stiles blurted out, mostly in lack of other things to say. To his immense surprise Derek recoiled again, pulling his hand back as if Stiles had burned him.

With a swift turn Derek was heading for his room again, Stiles stumbling after him with wide eyes.

"What? Really? You are? That's so cool!" Stiles followed, heedless of the barely audible growl growing in Derek's throat. "But isn't that supposed to be a full moon gig? You look pretty transformed to me and really, while it's quite impressive I can't exactly see any benefits to-"

Derek's wordless snarl made Stiles fall silent. It wasn't quite as terrifying as the roar he had given when he had chased Stiles out of the house the first time but still enough to make Stiles bite his tongue.

Someone as isolated as Derek probably didn't know how to handle a person whose very personality was as invasive as Stiles' was. It might even be a tad bit terrifying. And when Stiles looked closer he could tell that Derek did look pretty haunted, with his shoulders raised defensively and his gaze unsettled, flickering from one object to another, as if he was searching for a way out.

Stiles was pushing him into a corner and if he got too close Derek might lash out. Not to mention that Stiles was obviously making him very uncomfortable with his questions and disregard for Derek's privacy. At any other given time Stiles wouldn't have cared but when he reminded himself that Derek probably chose to live like this for a reason – most likely related to his general demeanor – it was pretty obvious that Derek wasn't used to dealing with people. And Stiles was a very intense person.

Stiles swallowed and took a step back, until he hovered just outside Derek's room. Crossing the threshold seemed like the kind of line he shouldn't take for granted right now, not when Derek kept eyeing him warily. But at least he seemed reluctant to hurt Stiles. That was something.

Stiles was searching for a new subject – hopefully one that didn't seem as much like Stiles was interrogating him – when he saw a very familiar book lying on the dresser.

"Hey! That's mine!" he exclaimed and managed to keep himself from barging in and reclaiming it only through sheer force of will.

Derek looked guilty. Well, at least that explained why the backpack had been moved. Derek had gone through it and taken one of the books from it – one of the smaller biology books Stiles had been carrying around. Stiles wanted to feel insulted over having someone rifle through his things but there was something awfully adorable about it, especially when Derek took the book from the dresser and shuffled closer.

Derek held it out to Stiles in his clawed hand, obviously trying to give it back, but he looked so much like a kicked puppy with his tail between his legs that Stiles just couldn't take it. Compared to the other books Derek had this was practically brand new, even if it had had a previous owner before Stiles. Derek must really like to read if he was willing to pilfer a biology book of all things. Not that Stiles had had anything else in his backpack, but still.

Stiles smiled and pushed the book back towards Derek, clearly showing that he had no intention of accepting it.

"Nah, it's okay. You can keep it."

Derek looked up, the frown deepening on his face. Stiles chuckled and inched closer, until he was on the verge of stepping inside, but he saw the flash of warning in Derek's eyes and made sure not to cross the threshold. He wasn't allowed.

"As a gift, you know?"

Derek didn't seem to know if his confused head tilt was anything to go by. It was strange that someone so big and hairy could be so unbelievably adorable. Stiles sighed, rolled his eyes and pushed until the book was pressed against Derek's chest, Stiles' fingers splayed over the cover and brushing just shy of Derek's claws.

"Keep it." Stiles' smile was wide and kind, urging Derek to take the book back to his dresser.

Derek seemed to hesitate, his gaze flickering from the book and up to meet Stiles' eyes, but he eventually took a step back. Haltingly and a little stiffly but he didn't seem upset or angry. Derek made a sound low in his throat and Stiles wasn't entirely certain whether it was a growl or an attempt to clear his throat.

"... thanks."

Stiles grinned.

"No biggie."

Well, except that it wasn't exactly a cheap book. Not the most expensive one but still not cheap. Stiles could live with that. He could totally deal considering how Derek lowered his gaze, looking almost bashful of all things.

"Now leave."

Stiles groaned and gestured animatedly with his hands.

"Really? You're kicking me out after I've bestowed you with gifts? That's so very gracious of you," Stiles said sarcastically, not exactly surprised when Derek eased back, his shoulders stiffening again.

"I like my privacy."

"Yeah, so I figured considering where you live."

"Then leave me alone," Derek practically hissed.

"So you don't want some company for a change?" Stiles offered, knowing what Derek would reply even before he shook his head.

"No. And you have other things to do," Derek pointed out. Stiles frowned.

"How could you possibly know-"

"Your assignment is due tomorrow."

Stiles blinked in confusion, until he remembered that he had had the syllabus for his biology course in his backpack. Derek, the bastard, had apparently read that too. Still, he had a point. Stiles needed to start working on his assignment if he wanted to finish on time and an abandoned house wasn't exactly an ideal place for homework.

He narrowed his eyes, giving Derek a challenging glare.

"You won this time. But it's not over." He pointed at Derek's chest, because pointing at his face felt meaner than usual considering, well, its general appearance. Stiles was going to get to the bottom of that too. "I will be back."

Derek didn't reply. He just kept staring at Stiles with the kind of poker face that sent shivers down Stiles' spine. If Derek was aiming for unnerving then he was definitely managing. Stiles cleared his throat and moved backwards, not quite sure whether saying goodbye would be the polite thing or not. Derek made no effort to follow him.

"I'll... see you later then," Stiles said a little lamely. Derek merely rolled his eyes – as if he didn't believe a word Stiles was saying – before he turned to do something else. Stiles felt appropriately dismissed. But he would be back.

Now he knew that Derek wasn't dangerous and Stiles just couldn't help being intrigued. The comment about werewolves had been more of a joke than anything else but Derek's reaction had sparked Stiles' curiosity. He was going to get the bottom of this.

But for now he just gathered his backpack, called out a last goodbye and left. It felt surreal. There were so many things he wanted to say and ask – things he was dying to know – but he'd take it one step at a time. Derek was apparently pretty shy and Stiles didn't want to scare him off.

He would be lying if he didn't admit that he was already planning when he could return though.

Lydia seemed to think that he was nuts. Well, more than usual. And she didn't even know half of it. All she knew was that when Stiles got back from having been out in the woods a second time he was more chipper than he'd been in ages. He had immediately sat down to work on his assignment without as much as a complaint or any mention of how he had managed to retrieve his backpack without getting eaten. Not that she had seemed to believe the story about the monster in the first place, but still.

She kept eyeing him suspiciously with a subtle wrinkle between her eyebrows, as if she was trying to see through his charade. But Stiles was genuinely excited. Perhaps not about his biology homework but he was wise enough to complete it before he allowed his attention to stray towards other subjects. Like werewolves. And burned, abandoned houses. And grouchy loners that might or might not be one of said werewolves.

He finished in record time and as soon as he was done he barricaded himself in his room, barely stopping to snag provisions from the kitchen. It was a good thing that Lydia was somewhat used to his sudden bursts of spastic energy, otherwise Stiles suspected that she might have called the police on suspicion of him being on drugs.

Stiles flopped down on his bed with his laptop at the ready. This was his element. He loved to navigate through piles of information with nothing but a stroke of a key or swipe with his mouse. He loved research, and werewolves was a fascinating subject.

His fingers flew over the keyboard, eyes fixed on the softly glowing screen, and it didn't take long before he had managed to get a rather firm grasp on it. He found a lot of old legends but he wasn't sure which were true and not. Everyone seemed to agree that werewolves were weak against silver though and Stiles made a mental note to make sure not to bring any when he went back to see Derek. It wouldn't do to offend him, not considering how hostile and aloof he already was.

Stiles devoured the knowledge and legends about werewolves but also made a quick search to see if he could find anything about the fire. Even if the house was isolated someone must have noticed if it burned down.

He felt something lodge in his throat when he found the headlines. An entire family burned to death. The police seemed to have been unable to really pinpoint the origin of the fire but it was assumed to be caused by some faulty wiring. An entire family. Derek's family.

Something akin to guilt rolled through Stiles' stomach. This was private – very private – and while he was always curious he knew better than to dig through someone else's painful past. When he was younger he might have kept going, just because he wanted to know everything about things that fascinated him, but this left a sour taste at the back of his tongue.

He quickly closed the tabs about the fire and took a deep breath. It wasn't his business to meddle in Derek's past. Derek Hale. That was his name. There had been a short mention of him, his sister and some uncle that had survived but Stiles hadn't looked closer. Derek seemed completely alone now. Derek was living isolated out in the woods, his face transformed like some hideous beast's. Stiles wondered if he had always been like that, but he doubted that he would find his answers in the newspapers.

"Are you going to sit here the entire night?" a voice suddenly asked.

Stiles jumped so high that his laptop slipped from where it sat perched on his knees and he barely managed to catch it before it crashed to the floor. He sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to calm his beating heart.

"Jesus, Lydia, stop sneaking up on me like that!" he berated. She just shrugged and strode into his room as if she owned it, absently kicking aside some piece of clothing he had left lying on the floor.

"What are you working on? You seem very invested."

Stiles inched to the side and turned his laptop so that Lydia wouldn't be able to peek at the screen. He had closed the tabs about the Hale fire but there were still several about werewolves for her to feast her eyes on. And he wasn't quite prepared to tell her about that yet. Mostly because she was one of those 'seeing is believing' kind of people and she wouldn't trust Stiles' judgment on there being actual werewolves. It was pretty far-fetched, even he could admit that, and without proof she would undoubtedly think he was nuts.

"I'm always invested," he defended, a little insulted. She gave him a blank, meaningful look with a delicately raised eyebrow.

"Stiles, there are varying degrees to your attention span. Most of them are harmless but then there's the one where you don't see or hear anything except what you're currently focusing on."

"So?" he asked, a tad bit rudely. Lydia only rolled her eyes.

"That's where you are now. And it's creepy. You missed dinner, Stiles, and you never miss an opportunity to eat."

Stiles blinked. Oh. She had a point.

He glanced at the clock shown on his computer and felt his eyes widen in surprise. Three hours. He had been sitting there for over three hours. He cleared his throat, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Sorry..."

"Oh, don't apologize to me," Lydia replied, waving softly with one of her hands as she took a seat next to him on his bed. His very unmade bed. He would never get used to having girls in his room so it still looked like a bombshell, no matter how often Lydia tried to make him clean it. "Just tell me what you're working on."

Stiles felt himself draw back a little. He couldn't tell her. She wouldn't believe him first of all, but he couldn't do that to Derek. It wasn't Stiles' secret to tell.

"Nothing you need to know about," he answered evasively.

"Is it about that house?" she sounded nonchalant but he could feel her razor sharp gaze on him. She was probably just worried, not wanting him to get obsessed with something that could ultimately become dangerous. But it wasn't the house he was interested in so he calmly shook his head.

"No, it's not the house."

It was the person living _at_ the house but it still wasn't a lie. Which was why he met her gaze head on, showing that he had nothing to hide.

"Okay..." she sounded suspicious but there wasn't much she could do without making it obvious that she was indeed prying.

"Now I better get something to eat," Stiles announced, settling for a compromise. If she was worried that he would get too obsessed with his research then he could at least make an effort to feed himself. Not to mention that he needed some time to sort through what he had found. And his stomach was rumbling.

"Great. I want to watch a movie."

Lydia rose from Stiles' bed, clearly expecting Stiles to accept her demand without argument. And he kind of did. While he was still insanely intrigued by Derek and the circumstances around him Stiles loved the quiet moments he got to spend with Lydia. There were no romantic feelings between them but there was a lot of safety and reassurance. He liked that.

So he rolled his eyes, snapped his laptop shut and followed Lydia out into the rest of the apartment, ready to watch The Notebook for the umpteenth time. It was in moments like these that Stiles cursed that Jackson was at another college, several miles away, otherwise Lydia could have made Jackson watch it with her instead. Now she had to make do with Stiles.

He knew that he was just a substitute sometimes, but he was fine with that. He got to cuddle up on the couch next to a pretty girl. Life could certainly be worse.

Stiles drove carefully along the barely maintained road, dry leaves whirling around the tires of his Jeep. When Stiles had left last time he had followed the road he had found, only to realize that it lead to the main highway, just a short distance from the parking lot leading to the reserve. It was definitely easier to reach the house by car rather than hiking through the woods for about an hour, even if he had been forced to stop and clear away fallen branches twice already in order to be able to pass.

It was a bumpy, uncomfortable journey but well worth it when he saw the Hale house peeking out from between the trees. He parked in front of it and grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat before climbing out. The car door creaked when he slammed it shut and Stiles couldn't help wondering if Derek heard him coming.

Stiles made his way to the front door but hesitated just as he reached for the door handle. This was Derek's home, decaying as it might be, and it really wasn't polite to just march in without an invitation. So instead he changed his mind and knocked.

Nothing happened. Stiles waited for what had to be over a minute but nothing happened. Either Derek wasn't home or he wasn't answering. Stiles had a feeling that it was the latter.

"Come on, Derek, I know you're in there. Just open the door and let me in. Otherwise I'll stand here and knock until you do. You know I will," Stiles called, pretty sure that Derek would hear him even through the closed door, "I'm just as stubborn as you are."

Stiles fell silent but thumped his toe against the doorpost instead, just to demonstrate that he would totally stay there and make noise until Derek let him in. It took a couple of seconds but eventually the door handle turned and Derek opened a narrow gap. Stiles could barely make out his face, which was probably Derek's intention. It wasn't a face most people would like to see but Stiles didn't care all that much.

"Hi!" he chirped instead, grinning widely like they had been friends for years. "I told you I would be back."

The fact that it had only been a day since last time, well, blame it on Stiles' enthusiasm.

"What do you want?" Derek's voice was low and rumbling, like before, but it didn't feel scary at all.

"I want to come inside. I'd like to talk to you, get to know you."

That seemed to give Derek pause but Stiles waited patiently for a response. Derek opened the door, just a little wider, and gave Stiles and incredulous look.

"Why?"

Stiles shrugged.

"Why not? You seem like an interesting guy."

A low, threatening growl was all he heard at first, until Derek practically snarled his reply.

"I'm not some kind of sideshow freak."

Well, that was debatable because Stiles was pretty certain that some would say that Derek most certainly was considering his animalistic features, but Stiles wasn't one of them. He was fascinated, sure, but he had been reminded time and time again that Derek was a person, not some creature to point and stare at.

"I know." He held up his hands in an attempt to calm the growling, well, was Derek a werewolf? Stiles still didn't know but he was going to find out somehow, sooner or later. "That's not why I'm here. I just thought that you might need a friend, that's all. It doesn't seem like you have many of those."

Derek hesitated and Stiles decided that it was time to bring out the big guns. He let his backpack slip from his shoulder and held it up between them.

"Look, I even brought peace offerings. And not just books this time."

Derek sniffed discreetly, as if he could pick up on the scent of food coming from Stiles' backpack. It was strangely adorable to watch that abnormally shaped nose crinkle in innocent interest. Like a puppy.

Stiles gave Derek his most winning smile but he was pretty certain that it was the promise of food that eventually made Derek open the door, allowing Stiles to step inside. Stiles didn't really care as long as he actually made it.

This was going to be awesome.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting somewhere! I had so much fun writing this... and it's interesting to explore a Stiles who HASN'T gone through the ordeals he has in the show, but still grown up some. He's... nicer.
> 
> Thank you to my ever faithful beta [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum)!


	3. A Tentative Friendship

 

* * *

 

Derek stopped as soon as they got inside the first room, showing rather clearly that he wasn't letting Stiles inside the smaller, cozier one that was definitely some kind of safe haven. Stiles could deal with that. He could understand Derek's need to keep some things private, especially considering how uncomfortable he had to be around other people.

So Stiles made sure to show that he took no offense to the clearly marked boundaries Derek set up. If Stiles wanted to stay he had to respect them, he knew that. Instead he flopped down on the armchair he had familiarized himself with the first time he was there and zipped open his backpack.

"First of all, I did bring you books too." Stiles dug them out and tossed one at Derek, who caught it with a frankly astounding show of quick reflexes. He did seem a little careful with the claws but Stiles assumed that was only natural. They were most likely sharp enough to puncture almost anything.

Derek frowned down at the worn copy of _Catch-22_ he was holding.

"It's yours," Derek stated dumbly. "It smells like you."

Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Well, duh. It's what I had at hand, alright?" He wasn't even going to comment on the whole smell thing even if it piqued his interest quite a bit. "It's one of my favorites so you'll have to excuse the state of it. I've read it a few times over the years."

Derek looked _awkward_ if anything, as if he wasn't sure if he could accept it. Derek probably valued books a bit more than Stiles did, even if he had to admit that he could be pretty possessive when it concerned his favorites. Stiles smiled.

"And here, Orwell's _1984_ and _A Game of Thrones_. They're awesome, all of them." He held out the other two books towards Derek, who hesitated long enough to make Stiles sigh. "Just take them, okay? Give them back when you're done reading if it makes you feel better."

That seemed to be the right thing to say because Derek finally accepted the books, handling them with a reverence that was both adorable and tragic. Stiles wondered how many things Derek had accidentally broken or ripped with those claws.

"That's a good boy."

Derek gave him a sharp look because, yeah, Derek was probably a couple of years older than Stiles and definitely not a boy, no matter how you looked at it. And there was honestly quite a lot to look at. Broad, muscled shoulders, slim hips and surprisingly nice legs. Stiles had never really thought about it before but guys could have nice legs – and Derek was definitely one of those that had been blessed in that department. Stiles could see it quite clearly considering the slightly worn and possibly a little too tight jeans Derek was wearing. It made him wonder what Derek looked like without them.

Stiles cleared his throat and forced his gaze to return to Derek's face. Dangerous territory. Very dangerous territory. He was not going to start having sexual fantasies about the guy living like a loner out in the woods. Interestingly enough Stiles didn't feel particularly deterred by Derek's face, which wasn't exactly pretty even if it did have a strange kind of grumpy charm to it. Stiles wasn't even sure if the guy was human.

"So, how do you cook in this house?" Stiles asked, a little desperate to fill the silence.

Derek seemed to want to press his lips together but it was difficult to do so around the sharp, large canines he had.

"Kitchen, other end of the house."

And Derek was apparently back to speaking like Tarzan. Stiles rolled his eyes but chose to dig around in his backpack rather than give a sarcastic and possibly insulting reply.

"Well, lucky for you I brought something that doesn't need to be cooked." Stiles waved the wrapped sandwich. "It's meatballs so I hope you're not a vegetarian."

Derek was the one who rolled his eyes this time and carefully placed the books on a rickety table before grabbing the sandwich from Stiles' hand, a little more forcefully than necessary. He seemed to have less qualms about accepting food and Stiles couldn't help grinning while he dug out his own curly fries.

"I don't know if you like Coke but that's what I have so take it or leave it," Stiles continued, feeling quite good about himself. He knew that he probably didn't have to feed Derek – no one looked that fit if they were actually starving – but it made him feel useful and Derek was actually kind of cute when he took a seat on the nearby couch with his sandwich, looking unmistakably eager.

"Coke is fine," Derek grumbled.

Stiles tossed him one of the bottles and just like before Derek caught it, without even looking up this time.

"That's some reflexes," Stiles pointed out, none too subtly. "Is it because you're not entirely human?"

Derek gave him a bland look before unscrewing the cap with surprising ease, despite the claws. He couldn't have been living out here his entire life, Stiles figured, but definitely for a couple of months. Perhaps even years. There were so many pieces to fit into the puzzle and Stiles felt a little dizzy at the mere thought of what he might unearth if he kept digging.

Derek took a sip from his Coke, which didn't seem to be an easy feat considering his teeth. Stiles tilted his head to the side.

"Perhaps I should have brought straws too."

The look Derek gave him was scathing and clearly offended. Stiles responded by pointing a curly fry at Derek's face.

"Hey! Don't belittle straws. They're awesome." Stiles was a little partial but at least he was man enough to admit it. "And you didn't answer my question."

Derek pulled up the sleeves of his Henley – the same reflex many had when they were about to eat – and Stiles got momentarily sidetracked by staring at Derek's forearms. Those were some really gorgeous forearms. Almost to the point where it was unfair.

"I'm not human."

Stiles snapped back to attention and resolutely looked at Derek's face instead, even if Derek had turned his focus towards unwrapping the sandwich.

"So you're a werewolf then?" It was a rather bold assumption but Derek's reaction when Stiles had first mentioned it was rather telling. Now Derek gave him a guarded look that held quite a lot of suspicion.

"Why do you say that?"

Stiles shrugged, chewing one of his fries.

"You kinda look like they did in the old movies, you know? Like Wolfman and Teen Wolf... just less hairy." Stiles grinned. "Although you're still plenty hairy of course."

Derek scoffed, obviously amused.

"Movies. Really?"

"Well, I'm right, aren't I?" Stiles countered without missing a beat. Derek seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if he was considering whether it would be wise to admit it or not.

Stiles waited patiently, even when Derek took a bite out of his sandwich in what could be an attempt to avoid the question. Stiles tried not to stare but it was so strange seeing someone with those teeth and set of his jaw eat. He quickly looked down at his own food when Derek glanced up.

"You're right."

Stiles took care not to let all the questions that immediately bubbled up inside him break free. He had learned patience over the years. Instead he swallowed his fries, took a sip of his Coke and cleared his throat.

"So, were you like... bitten or something?"

Derek wordlessly shook his head. Stiles frowned.

"So it can happen some other way? Isn't it usually a bite?"

Derek remained silent during a couple of seconds, busy eating, and Stiles had to force himself not to fidget or push Derek to continue. Having a conversation with the guy was truly infuriating, especially since Stiles had to do pretty much all the work.

"I was born into it."

Stiles' eyes widened.

"So... you've never known anything else? You've always been like this?" Derek hesitated, as if he didn't know what to answer, so Stiles hastened to add, "A werewolf, I mean. Not the-... urr... face... thing."

Smooth. Really smooth. Derek didn't really seem to take offence though, even if he didn't reply either. Talking to this man was like pulling teeth.

"Because it's not supposed to be like that, right? You're only supposed to transform during the full moon," Stiles continued, hoping that he wasn't demanding too much, "but you're stuck like this for some reason. It's not by choice, is it?"

This time Derek stiffened, the sandwich halfway to his mouth. Stiles held his breath, afraid that he had crossed a line of some kind. But he could have sworn that Derek seemed sad rather than angry.

When Derek eventually shook his head there was a somber hint to it. Stiles swallowed even if the curly fries had turned pretty tasteless in his mouth. Time to talk about something else.

"So is it true that werewolves are weak to silver?"

Okay, that wasn't the best topic change Stiles had ever executed but it brought back that laugh-like huff Derek had done earlier – the one that seemed to say that he found Stiles amusing.

"No. Not at all."

Stiles was almost disappointed.

"So the entire world basically has that part of the myth wrong?" He sounded a little dubious, he knew that, but couldn't someone have done a little fact checking over the years?

"Pretty much."

Derek didn't seem to want to elaborate and Stiles ate some more fries. Derek took being anti-social to a whole new level, that was for sure.

A part of him wondered why Derek even bothered to reply but he assumed that not even someone as isolated as Derek said no to a little company every now and then. He might even be craving it, although Stiles doubted that he would ever get that confirmed. He could settle for this slightly more polite version he got to see now. If Derek tolerated him enough for them to spend more time together he might grow to like him eventually. Stiles was surprised by how much he wanted that to happen.

"So what are the perks of being a werewolf?" Stiles asked between one bite and the next. Derek just kept eating and Stiles rolled his eyes. "I'm guessing reflexes. And strength... better sense of smell? Better hearing? Super healing?"

Derek swallowed down the last of his sandwich and Stiles had it on the tip of his tongue to tease Derek about having wolfed down his food. But since he didn't want to get kicked out he held it back.

"All of the above," Derek replied eventually, scrunching up the paper from the sandwich and giving Stiles a look that didn't say much at all.

"What's with the glowy eyes?" Stiles gestured towards his own face but Derek had apparently tired of the questions since he rose from the couch without replying, leaving the half empty bottle of Coke in favor of taking the books to his room.

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from following. He wasn't allowed to yet, he could see that in Derek's posture when he threw a quick glance over his shoulder before stepping inside, as if he thought that Stiles would rush to do the same the moment he was out of sight. But Stiles wouldn't. He would wait politely in his armchair even if he was dying to know more, ask further questions and just get closer.

But one step at a time. Derek had already been surprisingly forthcoming. Their situation was pretty unique, Stiles knew that, and there were no manuals. He had to play it by heart and instinct.

Derek returned soon enough, looking a lot less calm this time – almost as if something was itching under his skin. It made him look more like a caged animal than Stiles thought possible, especially since they were in Derek's own home.

Stiles didn't know if it was his presence or Derek's awkwardness at suddenly having company, but he feared that he might soon have outstayed his welcome. It made him a little disappointed because he was enjoying their time a lot more than he thought that he would. The mere fact that he was bringing food and reading material to a werewolf was pretty preposterous. But here they were.

Still, he couldn't push too much. He wanted to – God, there were still so many questions to ask – but there was no use rushing. He had no doubt in his mind that Derek would shut Stiles out if he did. He needed to be careful.

So despite his own reluctance to leave he rose from the armchair and gave Derek a beaming smile.

"Well then. I better get going. I handed in my biology assignment earlier today but I have English too, so..." He shrugged softly, zipping up his backpack before gathering both his and Derek's trash. He left the Coke-bottle though, in case Derek wanted the rest. "I'll come by on Saturday again, okay?"

It was Wednesday now and he hoped that Derek would have time to get used to the idea until then.

Derek response was to frown, his spine stiffening as if Stiles had threatened him.

"You're coming back?" Derek said it as if the very idea was ludicrous.

"Well, yeah," Stiles replied innocently, but Derek was having none of it.

"What do you get out of this? Why do you keep coming back?" His voice was rising in volume, which also seemed to increase the raw, rumbling growl within it. "I never said that you were welcome. I don't want you here!"

Stiles stood his ground, even when Derek took a couple of steps towards him. Derek really was quite terrifying up close and personal, not only because of the claws and fangs but the way he seemed to vibrate with some sort of animalistic rage – one he barely curbed. Stiles licked his bottom lip before meeting Derek's gaze head on.

"Because I think that you need it."

Derek faltered. Stiles took a deep breath and a step closer. This time Derek didn't back away from him and they ended up standing a little closer than Stiles had intended – or than Derek was probably comfortable with.

"Look, I know you must be suspicious – this entire thing is pretty new to me too – but I'm telling you, I'm not here to harm you. I just think that you might, you know... need a friend. Someone to give you new books because, let's face it, those you have are pretty outdated and I'm sure you've read them all already." Stiles smiled, as calmly as he possibly could. "I just want to help."

Derek seemed to grit his teeth before he snorted and turned on his heel.

"I don't need help – not from you. Stay away." Derek marched towards his room, stopping in the doorway to look over his shoulder. "Don't come back here."

That was definitely a threat but Stiles only raised his chin in defiance.

"And if I do?"

"Then I'll rip your throat out with my teeth," Derek growled. It was something that Stiles was pretty certain that Derek was actually capable of too. Those were some nasty teeth.

Stiles didn't get the chance to deliver a comeback however since Derek slammed the door behind himself after having disappeared into his room. Stiles clenched his fist and stuck out his tongue at the closed door in the probably lamest and most childish act of revenge ever.

It was definitely a threat to take seriously, Stiles knew that, because he had a feeling that Derek played by a different set of rules than Stiles and the rest of humanity did, but he was stubborn. He hadn't lied about that. He would find some way to come back without getting mauled. Because when Stiles had decided something he would see it through, come hell or high water. This was no different.

Stiles didn't go back on Saturday like he had first suggested. Partly because Derek would be expecting it and partly because Lydia invited him to go to a party with her and she would have found it strange if he declined. He still hadn't told her about his third visit to the woods and he intended to keep it that way. Better she didn't know anything about it.

He considered going on Sunday but he was hung over enough not to want to drive and he still hadn't quite figured out how to keep Derek from tearing him to pieces. So Stiles waited, bided his time. Only as soon as Monday arrived he got distracted by school and homework and while he didn't forget about Derek – far from it – he didn't manage more than fleeting thoughts either. Promises to himself to go back there as soon as possible, heedless of Derek's threats.

But the week passed quickly and then suddenly it was just there. The day Stiles dreaded the most and always tried to forget, without ever managing. It sneaked up on him no matter how hard he tried not to let it affect him. He had almost managed to suppress it this year. But only almost.

His dad called him in the morning, before classes started, just to hear how he was doing. It was stupid. Stiles wasn't doing well at all. He never did. Not today.

He told his dad as much and his dad agreed, sounding solemn. Neither of them seemed to be able to talk in their normal voices on this day, only in whispers. As if they were afraid that she would hear them and be saddened by the grief they both still felt on the day of her death. It made Stiles feel guilty.

Stiles texted Scott back and forth, because Scott knew what day it was and while calling wasn't practical because they both has classes texting was fine. Lydia kept an extra eye on him too because she had gotten clued in somewhere during their first year of living together what day it was. The day of Stiles' mom's death.

He wasn't sure why it still affected him so much – a part of him wished that it didn't – but he'd rather take that than forget about her entirely. Still, his heart was heavy and he walked through classes like a zombie, for once lacking his enthusiasm and seemingly unlimited energy. It felt like he was drifting mindlessly from one place to another and while Lydia was obviously worried Stiles didn't know where to start – how to explain it to her. She didn't know loss the way he did, even if she was smart and considerate when she chose to be. Lydia wouldn't understand and he was actually happy that she didn't – no one deserved to feel like this.

So it came as no surprise to Stiles when he heard himself say no to staying in and watching a movie with her. He loved her, he really did, but his skin felt too small for his bones and he hadn't been able to take one solid breath during the entire day. It felt like he was slowly suffocating.

He took his Jeep for a drive instead, just for the sake of driving. He made sure to take his phone with him because he still wasn't stupid enough to forget that, just in case something happened, but apart from that he just let himself drift. Mindless.

He didn't even know what made him drive to the Hale house. He wasn't thinking clearly – or thinking at all really. Perhaps there was some subconscious part of him that remembered what Derek had lost. Perhaps Derek would understand, even if they didn't talk. Perhaps he could find some kind of answer with Derek, a way to handle it better, without feeling so crushingly devastated.

Stiles was halfway up the porch steps when he realized what he was doing and froze in place. Of course Derek didn't want to see him. He had forgotten all about Derek's promise to kill him if he returned and that probably hadn't changed just because Stiles got a little depressed about his mom being dead.

Stiles felt the lump in his throat grow until it sank like a heavy rock, straight into his gut. He slumped down on the worn, charred steps and hid his face against his knees, trying to become as small as possible. Just like he had when he was little and afraid of thunder, before his mother had found him and told him about the wonders of it – how beautiful the lightning bolts could be. After that Stiles had always loved thunder. His mom had made sure that he wasn't afraid of it anymore.

It felt like his heart was being slowly wrenched out of his chest. It was nothing new – it happened every year – but it was never easier to handle. She was still dead.

Stiles didn't know how long he sat there, wallowing in his own misery, but after a while he heard the door behind him creak open. Those hinges really were worthless.

He knew that he should get up and leave. He was sitting on Derek's porch, uninvited, and Derek didn't want him there. Stiles should leave. But all he could seem to manage was to wipe some of the tears away and ineffectively clear his throat.

"I'm sorry..." he mumbled pathetically. "I'm leaving. I just didn't feel up to driving back just yet."

Derek didn't say anything – because of course it was Derek, Stiles didn't even have to turn around to know that – but something did brush against Stiles' shoulder. Stiles jumped in surprise, not having expected to be touched, and when he turned around he saw Derek backing away swiftly with a guilty look on his face. As if he had hurt Stiles somehow.

"No, no, hey. It's okay," Stiles croaked, trying to smooth over his startled reaction, "you just scared me, is all."

Derek still didn't come closer but he did hold something out to Stiles. A roll of toilet paper. Probably the closest thing Derek had to tissues. Stiles couldn't help it – he burst out laughing. It was more of a hiccupping sob but he did manage a shaky smile.

"You are too adorable for words sometimes, do you know that?" Stiles accepted the roll, blowing his nose no matter how unattractive it was. No one was when they were crying with snot everywhere.

Derek seemed to hesitate before he sat down on the same step, his movements jerky and halting, as if he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. He sat as far away from Stiles as physically possible but Stiles could appreciate the gesture for what it was. The support Derek tried to offer.

Stiles wiped away the worst evidence of his tears while Derek stared at the woods ahead, unblinking and unflinching. It looked extremely uncomfortable, especially coupled with his rigid posture.

"I'm really sorry," Stiles apologized again, "I didn't plan to come here. It just... sort of happened."

Derek glanced in his direction but averted his gaze again, just as quickly. Stiles was a little disappointed that the sun had already set because he would have liked to see Derek in proper lighting. The inside of the house was intentionally dark after all, but probably not a hindrance to Derek. Being a werewolf surely gave him better night vision than humans.

Derek opened his mouth as if to say something, but after a second or two had passed he closed it again with a clack. Stiles felt a weak smile twitch at the corner of his lips. Derek was most likely trying to ask what was wrong but so far Stiles had been the one asking the questions. Derek didn't seem to know where to start.

"My mom died," Stiles offered, Derek's gaze snapping up to meet his. "Years ago, don't worry... but it still... _hurts_ , you know? Like a hole I can't seem to fill or get rid of. Like an ache that just won't stop." Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath – the deepest yet today. "I miss her. So much. And today is just worse because it's impossible not to think about her, not remember her. It was years ago but it happened today. It feels like it happened today."

Stiles cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his raised knees, turning his head to look at Derek.

"I just miss her, you know?"

Derek wasn't looking at him. He was staring straight ahead, then down at his own hands, but he nodded. Derek knew. He understood.

That made Stiles feel better in a way, but in another it just made him feel worse. He wasn't supposed to know about Derek's family and he still didn't want anyone to have to feel this pain. But at least Derek understood.

Stiles bit his bottom lip before he rubbed a hand through his hair.

"I think that I kind of lied, back there..." he admitted after a while, ignoring the sharp look Derek gave him. "About you needing a friend. Well, no, I wasn't lying about _that_ exactly – I do think that you need one. But you're not the only one." Stiles smiled softly, his blunt nails catching on the thick fibers of his jeans when he scratched his knee. "I think that I might need one too."

Derek met his gaze this time but his expression was difficult to read. He didn't seem prepared to rip Stiles' throat out with his teeth just yet though, which was always a plus.

The silence held, the moment lingered, until Derek rose from where he sat without as much as a word. Stiles felt his heart sink. At least he had made an effort. No one could argue with that.

"You can come inside."

Stiles blinked, looking up in confusion, but Derek didn't seem able to meet his eyes. Derek was clearly embarrassed and Stiles just had to smile.

"You sure?"

Derek nodded and walked back towards the door and when Stiles got to his feet, ready to follow, Derek made sure to leave it open after having entered himself. It didn't quite fill the hole in Stiles' chest – nothing ever would – but a comfortable kind of warmth was growing inside him.

"Thanks," he whispered, pretty sure that Derek could hear him anyway.

Stiles still wasn't allowed inside Derek's room, which became obvious when Derek returned from it with a thick blanket that he dumped on the armchair. Stiles' armchair.

Stiles smiled, accepting the compromise and wrapped himself in the blanket before taking a seat. It smelled vaguely of the fire that was burning in the other room but Stiles didn't mind. It was warm and cozy. Derek handed over a book – Stiles hadn't even noticed that he had brought it with the blanket – and Stiles smiled when he saw that it wasn't one of his. Derek was letting him borrow one of the mismatched, battered ones he owned – those he seemed to treasure quite a bit.

Derek was definitely a lot cuter than his appearance suggested. And Stiles felt surprisingly alright when he burrowed down into the blanket and opened the first page of the book. He snickered softly when he saw the title, not even minding that he had already read it. Not when Derek seemed to perk up, just at little, at the sound of Stiles' laugh.

" _Call of the Wild_. Really, Derek? Really?"

Derek only shrugged but there was a distinct sort of contentment to the way that he leaned back on the couch, picking up Stiles' copy of _A Game of Thrones_. There didn't seem to be many pages left before he was done and Stiles wondered if Derek would like the rest once he had finished the first one. He guessed that he could only wait and see. Because this time he was actually pretty certain that Derek would let him come back once he left.

Derek looked at ease, completely focused on the page he was reading, his clawed fingers holding the book with practiced gentleness. It was adorable and Stiles couldn't help that he felt something warm and perhaps not entirely convenient bloom in his chest.

He was beginning to like Derek. A lot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know at what time of year Claudia died but since I've already made some big changes to the show's canon I don't feel too bad about deciding that it's late fall. Because it fits.
> 
> And don't tell me that you would be able to withstand having Stiles crying on your doorstep. Derek might be a grump but we all know that he's everything but heartless. 
> 
> In other news: There will now be 13, not 12 chapters, because I am nuts and have started on a bonus chapter that will be uploaded after the final one. It's not finished yet so I'm not sure how long it will be but it's looking awesome so far! :D
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) beta'ed as usual - give her some love!


	4. The Plot Thickens

 

* * *

 

They settled into a routine with surprising ease. Whenever Stiles knew that he would have an evening to spare – or moved things around until he did – he drove out to Derek's to spend some time with the grumpy werewolf.

Most of the time they didn't talk, to Stiles' dismay. But that was kind of nice too. It was strangely peaceful in Derek's decaying house and Stiles found that he felt more at ease curled up in the lumpy armchair than he sometimes did at his own apartment. He never said that out loud though.

They read a lot. Sometimes Stiles did his homework but more often than not they remained in companionable silence, reading. Derek had indeed wanted the rest of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ once he was done with the first book and Stiles was happy to supply them. Derek dutifully returned every book he borrowed and Stiles made sure to do the same with those he read. He never even took them from Derek's house and instead just left them there until next time he would be over.

Stiles often brought things to eat too. Never expensive things or an abundance because he was a relatively poor college student, but Derek accepted it all with gratitude. Well, he rarely – if ever – said thank you, but the way he would become awkward and just a tad bit embarrassed whenever Stiles gave him something he liked was reward enough. It was like trying to sneakily gain the affections of a grumpy but very adorable puppy. Stiles loved it.

Little by little he also managed to squeeze out more details about werewolves, until he could piece together a much clearer picture of who they were and how. It was incredibly fascinating but Stiles made sure never to write anything down, just to be on the safe side. It wasn't like he was in any danger of forgetting something as awesome as that anyway.

Derek seemed mildly surprised by Stiles' lack of fear in the face of something as unbelievable as werewolves, but Stiles just explained it by pointing at how many years he had spent secretly hoping for something like that to be true. He might have had his fingers crossed for it to be Hogwarts, not werewolves, but hey, they were definitely cool too.

The only time Derek refused to budge was when the full moon arrived. No matter how much Stiles whined he wasn't allowed near the house during that night. A part of Stiles wanted to ignore the warning and come anyway, and had he been younger he might have been stupid enough to do that. But now he recognized that the look in Derek's eyes when he forbade him wasn't anger or sternness but worry. He didn't want Stiles to get hurt.

So Stiles stayed away during the full moon, even if Derek had explained that he had mastered controlling that part of himself years ago. Better safe than sorry, Stiles guessed.

Derek was still a very private being and Stiles had learned when he needed to back off with his questions or presence in general. Derek wasn't nearly as physical as Stiles was and that caused a misunderstanding or two in the beginning. It didn't matter where Stiles tried to touch – Derek's back, his arms or just his fingers when they handed something to each other – Derek always flinched away, sometimes coupled with a defensive growl.

If Derek was the one to initiate it then it was fine. There were times when he pushed Stiles out of the way or poked him discreetly to get his attention, but touching was off limits for Stiles. So was Derek's room. Stiles handled both restrictions as well as he could and remained on a respectful distance. Well, when he wasn't subtly trying to worm his way closer.

Because it was obvious that Derek had relaxed quite a bit. After two weeks he never tensed when Stiles spoke and Stiles could usually stay as long as he liked, even if he always made sure to get back home before ten, mostly to keep Lydia from worrying. Derek had gone from tolerating Stiles' presence to accepting it – and sometimes even craving it if the lingering looks was anything to go by.

So Stiles didn't feel too bad about steadily decreasing the distance between them. He still kept to his armchair but every now and then he made Derek move closer on the couch to show him something he was reading and after a while Derek just stayed there, closer and easier to reach. It was a slow, steady process but terribly rewarding. Stiles liked having Derek close.

There were quite a few things that he liked about Derek even if he tried to deny most of them. It didn't feel right to be oogling him when they were supposed to be friends. But there was just so much to admire – and not just physical things.

Sure, they might be the first he noticed. Like how tempting it was to see Derek's muscles move under the fabric of his shirt, or how solid and stable he felt. Stiles hadn't known that was a thing but apparently it was. It wasn't just the muscles, he knew that, it was the entire shape of him. The combination of Derek's build, presence and his personality. It was fascinating. And kind of hot too.

Derek in general was pretty hot. Okay, Stiles could admit that he wasn't quite sure about the face even if he had nothing against it either – but a fleeting thought about how much those teeth could hurt a pair of lips kind of cooled him off quite a bit – but he couldn't deny that he was interested. He was attracted to Derek.

It was stupid – not to mention quite intrusive since Derek didn't even allow Stiles to touch him – but he couldn't help it. He'd never met anyone like Derek before, and that was without counting the whole werewolf thing.

Derek was cranky and stoic with a temper that could scare pretty much anyone, but whenever Stiles started to hint the softer sides of him – how mindful he was with his books or how careful he was to never end up in a situation where he might hurt Stiles – he couldn't help feeling a clench in his chest. A good clench, one that told him that he was getting very attached, very quickly. Derek was, in lack of better words, endearing.

Stiles really liked the time they spent together, even if they never broached the subject of why Derek was in a constant state of werewolf. Stiles found out more about the house in general though, like the fact that the only running water Derek had was cold – which might explain some of the grouchiness because no one could remain happy when all they had was cold showers – and that there was a small generator for electricity. It couldn't handle much though so Derek basically only used it to power the stove when he cooked. No microwave.

When Stiles had asked about the actual food items and how Derek got his clothes Derek had looked away a little awkwardly and refused to answer. Stiles assumed that he stole them somehow, in the dead of night when no one was there to see him.

It hurt to realize just how much of an outcast Derek was. He didn't just avoid groups of people, he avoided _everyone_. Because he couldn't risk them freaking out at the sight of his face. Stiles wanted to hug him but the boundaries Derek had set up clearly wouldn't allow that. Stiles still had a lump in his throat whenever he thought about it. He didn't ask about Derek's living arrangements after that.

Lydia seemed to suspect that something was going on but since Stiles seemed happy, content and never actually stayed out an entire night she never asked. He did his homework, ate regularly and behaved exemplary when it came to his cleaning duties. That might, on second thought, be what she found most suspicious of all. The fact that he was borrowed so many books from the library wasn't that strange though, but she was probably confused by not seeing any of them at the apartment later, since most of them ended up at Derek's, until he was done with them.

Stiles never told her about it. Days and weeks passed and he was actually pretty okay with having it be a secret between him and Derek. He was pretty certain that Derek felt the same. The more time they spent together the easier it seemed for Derek to welcome Stiles back.

After a little over a month Derek had permanently moved his designated seat to the spot on the couch that put him closest to Stiles and if Stiles wasn't mistaken the couch itself actually stood a little closer as well. It made him feel all giddy and excited. It was impossible to stop smiling.

Derek had seemed confused by it at first – as if he hadn't seen a smile in ages – but it didn't take long before Derek moved on to staring, perhaps a tad bit excessively, whenever Stiles smiled. He seemed completely mesmerized sometimes and Stiles tried not to blush like an idiot whenever it happened. It didn't mean anything. Derek was just not used to company, that was all. That was why he stared.

By the time the beginning of December rolled around Stiles was having trouble _not_ going over to Derek's every other night. He wanted to. Partly because he was a little worried since it was getting quite cold outside, but Derek never complained or seemed affected by it in any other way than him wearing longer sleeves. Which was a tragedy in itself because Stiles liked staring at his bare arms.

It was so easy to hang out with Derek. Stiles might even dare to say that they liked each other. Derek had stopped growling entirely, partly because Stiles had gotten answers to his most pressing questions and was a lot calmer, but also because they had genuinely grown closer. Or so Stiles hoped. It was thrilling.

Stiles curbed his urges to drive out there most days but when Lydia announced that she was heading over to study with some friend from advanced mathematics – and would be gone for hours because it was a Saturday – the door had barely closed behind her before Stiles was getting ready to leave as well. He stopped only long enough to mix some hot chocolate in a durable thermos and steal some of Lydia's cookies. After that he was off.

He knew the way by heart at that point and the road didn't look quite as abandoned anymore, his Jeep having chased away most of the fallen leaves. Stiles hummed one of the songs Lydia had been listening to before she left under his breath as he drove, drumming with his fingers against the steering wheel. He felt pretty excited. Not only because he was going to Derek's but because it would be Christmas soon, which meant going back home to see his dad.

On top of that Scott and Allison were going to come for a visit just before Christmas, to Stiles and Lydia's delight. Then all four of them would head back to Beacon Hills to celebrate the holidays with their respective parents. It was ages since they had seen each other and Stiles was really looking forward to it, even if he still hadn't quite figured out how to break the news to Derek that he wouldn't be coming around as often. Not when he had visitors or during Christmas.

He had a feeling that Derek might already suspect it but they hadn't talked about it. They probably should.

Stiles took a deep breath and parked on his usual spot in front of Derek's house. It was only the soft glow coming from one of the non-barred windows that revealed that it might not be completely empty and Stiles smiled warmly when he made his way to the front door.

He didn't knock – Derek heard him long before he actually arrived and had gotten used to Stiles barging in by then – but made sure to close the door firmly once he was inside. The warmth coming from the fire Derek kept burning in his room didn't quite reach the foyer but Stiles wasn't going to let any of it out.

"Guess who brought hot chocolate?" he called out cheerfully as he made his way into the living room, as Stiles had taken to calling it.

Derek emerged from his bedroom with what Stiles had learned to recognize as the closest thing to a smile that Derek could manage – just a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth – and Stiles grinned in response, dumping his backpack in front of his armchair.

"Get some mugs, will you?"

Derek didn't reply verbally – as was usually the case – but did as Stiles asked. There weren't many utensils in the house but Stiles had claimed a chipped, horrendous green mug as his, and he knew that Derek had taken notice of that too.

Stiles unwrapped the bright red scarf Lydia insisted that he wear and draped it over the back of the armchair before unloading the thermos and cookies on the table they had moved within reach of both the couch and armchair. The mere fact that they had refurnished to better suit them as a unit made Stiles' entire being hum with happiness.

He didn't hear Derek's footsteps – Stiles had no idea how _anyone_ could walk silently in the old creaking house but Derek managed – but he could tell when he returned anyway. It was like a shift in the air, a vibration that seemed to intensify whenever Derek was close, so he turned with a smile and accepted the mugs Derek had brought. Stiles' mug really was disgustingly green.

Stiles took a seat on the edge of the cushion of his armchair while Derek made his way to the couch, as per usual.

"The cookies are Lydia's but I doubt she made them herself. I think they're actually from this girl who has a major crush on her and Lydia just keeps accepting these gifts despite having a long distance boyfriend." Stiles frowned while pouring the hot chocolate into Derek's mug. "Or maybe they're just really good friends. I haven't quite figured that out yet because the finer points of how women interact with each other still eludes me from time to time."

Derek didn't reply but Stiles was used to that. He could hold entire conversations on his own and most of the time Derek seemed to listen to what he said. Like everything else between them it was a carefully tested method that seemed to benefit them both. Stiles got to talk about anything and everything that interested him and Derek didn't have to talk at all. Even if he did offer some opinions every now and then, often through surprisingly witty, sharp comments.

Stiles had started to realize that Derek talked so little because he didn't like the sound of his own growling, rumbling voice, and how difficult it was to talk around the fangs. It was doable of course but probably not comfortable or particularly uplifting. So Stiles never made him.

Most of the things they did were routine by then – comfortable and safe – so Stiles didn't even glance to his side when he handed over Derek's mug. Perhaps he should have because while Derek did move to accept it he did so a second later than usual, and that was all it took for Stiles to drop it just a little too early.

He wasn't even entirely sure what happened because it was over in a matter of seconds. One moment Derek had grabbed Stiles wrist with one hand and the mug with the other, stabilizing it so that it wouldn't fall to the floor, but the next he had hastily let go again, as if burnt. And since Stiles didn't have Derek's reflexes and could catch it himself the mug hit the wooden planks with a dull thud, the chocolate splashing out on the floor and Derek's pant leg.

Stiles blinked stupidly but even in his surprise he was quick enough to grab Derek's wrist when he tried to pull back. This time Stiles knew what had gone wrong, because he couldn't deny that he had felt a slight sting where Derek's claws had dented his skin. But he wasn't hurt. Derek didn't have to freak out.

"Hey, it's okay," Stiles said calmly, even if he could tell that Derek didn't think so. Stiles grip around Derek's wrist tightened. "It's okay, Derek. It didn't hurt. I'm fine."

Derek's eyes hardened and when he pulled back – physically as well as emotionally – Stiles followed. He didn't care that he stepped into the spilled chocolate and had to squeeze down in the narrow space Derek had just vacated, grabbing his hand again. It clenched, until Derek's claws were hidden, probably digging into his own skin to avoid hurting Stiles by mistake.

"I'm not afraid," Stiles whispered, clutching Derek's hand even when he made another attempt to pull it away. Derek froze and Stiles carefully let his fingertips wander over Derek's white knuckles. "I know you're being careful and I'm grateful for that but I'm not afraid. You don't have to worry about me. It's okay, Derek."

They had never been this close. Stiles' thigh was pressing against Derek's and he was holding Derek's hand, trying to coax him into opening it again. Derek was silent, looking at anything but Stiles it seemed, but little by little his fist unclenched and his fingers unfurled. Stiles found that his fingertips continued to wander, tracing along Derek's in fascination and a fair share of admiration. Derek's hand twitched in response.

Stiles smiled and turned Derek's hand over so that he could place his own palm against Derek's. There was no huge difference in size but the claws definitely gave Derek's fingertips a different shape and made them look longer.

"See? Not so different after all." Stiles grinned, trying to ignore how his heart was thudding loudly in his chest, both from nerves and delight. He didn't usually get to touch Derek so this was pretty ground breaking in that aspect.

Derek looked at their hands with something innocent and strangely vulnerable lingering in his eyes. Stiles swallowed and let his fingers shift, less than an inch, until they were interlaced with Derek's. Stiles held his breath for a moment, until Derek finally – hesitantly – squeezed a little tighter. Stiles responded with a squeeze of his own. Derek's claws where nowhere near hurting him, just like Stiles knew that they wouldn't.

"I understand that you're dangerous – I stay away during full moons because you tell me to – but this?" He raised their hands. "It's totally fine. You won't hurt me. It's okay." Stiles cleared his throat. "Well, unless it makes you uncomfortable of course. Then we should let go."

Stiles made a move as if to do just that but he didn't get further than relaxing his own grip before he felt Derek's tighten, almost a little desperately. "It's fine." Derek's voice was low and gruff but it made Stiles smile all the same. He bumped their shoulders, just for good measure.

"Then it's fine for me too."

When Derek looked up at him then, gaze unusually unguarded and open, Stiles felt his breath catch. How was he supposed to stop fantasizing about Derek when he looked at him like _that_? It was so unfair.

Stiles licked his lips before chuckling a little nervously, trying to curb his insane urge to do something he would probably regret. A part of him knew that they should clean up the accidental mess they had made and get on with their hot chocolate and cookie binge but he couldn't bring himself to move. Neither did Derek.

Stiles didn't complain. He could definitely stay like this a little while longer.

After that Derek started touching him a lot more. It was like the dam finally broke and Stiles was both excited and a bit _too_ excited. He tried to ignore it.

The problem was just that Derek suddenly liked the closeness a lot more than Stiles had anticipated and it was pure torture not being able to act on it. Because Derek was still awfully innocent in what he did. Just a brush here or a touch there – especially if it involved Stiles' hair – and one time Derek traced a pattern of moles on Stiles' arm with his fingertips. Stiles was forced to think very unattractive thoughts to curb all his urges, and he wasn't even sure if he had managed entirely. Derek was probably able to smell things like that, right? And that just went way beyond embarrassing, straight into the territory of mortifying.

But Derek never said anything. During the days that followed they only saw each other twice but both times involved a lot more touching and prodding than before. Stiles allowed it, if only because he was allowed to poke back.

Derek was uncomfortable at first, that much was obvious, but he eventually learned to relax and accept it. Stiles figured that the reason Derek had been against touching hadn't been Stiles as a person but the fact that he was afraid that he would lash out by mistake and hurt him. The accident with the hot chocolate showed that. So Stiles made sure to never approach if Derek didn't first hear or see him do it, and the touches were always light but not hesitant. Because Stiles wasn't afraid.

It easily became another added layer to their already existing routine that Stiles absolutely reveled in it. He knew that he was walking a very fine line between liking Derek as a friend and liking Derek as something else but Stiles figured that if he never admitted to it or acted on it no one could accuse him of anything. He just liked spending time with Derek. He liked Derek as a whole. Fur, fangs and the whole shebang. It was still nuts beyond anything Stiles had ever done before but he couldn't help it.

By the time next Friday arrived Stiles was looking forward to going back to Derek's place and involve in some platonic and utterly frustrating yet strangely rewarding cuddles. Perhaps he'd even be allowed inside Derek's room soon, if they kept this up.

He was looking forward to it so much in fact that he didn't even stop to notice the folded paper stuck between the envelope containing bills and a postcard from Allison. He had just gathered the mail as usual when he got back from his classes – which thankfully ended rather early on Fridays – and set about to make some coffee instead.

It wasn't until Lydia sauntered in a couple of minutes later, on a break between two of her classes, that Stiles even took notice. And then only because Lydia pointed it out.

"What's this?" She held it up, a frown appearing as she read whatever was on the page. The back was completely blank and that was all Stiles saw so he had no idea what she was talking about.

Stiles blew at his coffee instead, leaning the small of his back against the countertop behind him.

"What's what?"

Lydia looked up, her expression a mix between confusion and vague alarm.

"Why would someone mail us a copy of an article detailing the death of a woman five years ago?"

Stiles blinked and walked over to Lydia, where she sat seated on one of the high stools placed around their breakfast bar table-thingie. Lydia had assured him that it was very classy and fashionable. Not that he really cared.

"Say what now?" Stiles still had no idea what she was talking about. Lydia cleared her throat and started reading.

"The police have now confirmed that the traces found on the deceased woman's body – recently identified as Laura Hale – points to an animal att-"

Lydia didn't get any further before Stiles ripped the page from her hands, turning it over to stare at it in disbelief. He completely ignored her insulted shout and skimmed the article instead, placing his cup of coffee on the table before he forgot about it entirely and dropped it.

It seemed to be a simple copy of a newspaper – the kind you could make at any library or store offering the use of their copying machine. No clues there.

Stiles' heart was beating against his ribcage, his hands trembling as he read the article. Derek's sister. It had to be his sister. And she had been murdered by some kind of animal. Ripped in two, with claw and bite marks.

Stiles felt the world fade around him. All he could hear was his own agonizingly loud heartbeat. A wolf. They suspected a wolf.

Derek was a werewolf.

What if Derek was so careful about hurting people because he already had? What if he wasn't able to switch back to being human because he had once done something terrible and the guilt was eating away at him? What if Derek had killed his own sister?

Stiles swallowed harshly and slumped down on one of the bar stools, still not acknowledging Lydia's increasingly loud demands for him to take notice of her.

Five years ago. Long before Stiles had moved to town – he had still been in high school at the time. What if Derek had killed his own sister? Derek had mentioned that werewolves could get violent during full moons. Could he have done it by accident? Stiles doubted that Derek would ever do something like that intentionally.

Had Laura also been a werewolf? If Derek was born as such his sister should be too, right? God, Stiles had no idea. And he was jumping to conclusions. He needed to stop doing that.

"Stiles!" He snapped back to attention when Lydia grabbed his arm, hard enough for it to hurt.

"What is going on, Stiles? What is this? Who is that woman?" Her gaze was boring into his and he opened his mouth to reply, only to realize that he had no idea what to say. She didn't know about Derek and he wasn't entirely sure if he should tell her. Not the whole truth at least.

"I don't-... I didn't know her personally. But I know her brother."

Lydia frowned.

"Her brother?"

"Uh... yeah. Or at least I think he's her brother." He cleared his throat. "I've been seeing him for a while and-"

"Stiles, now is not the time to reveal secret boyfriends!"

Stiles blanched.

"What? No! It's nothing like that!" He got up from his chair, pacing back and forth while waving the article in his hand. "I just know him, okay? But this I didn't know. He never said anything about his sister getting murdered out in the woods!"

Lydia crossed her arms over her chest, her expression turning into that sharp, focused one she seemed to get whenever her brain was kicking into higher gears. It was a frightening look since it always made Stiles feel so inadequate and stupid.

"Who sent it?"

Stiles stopped pacing, blinking owlishly for a moment until he caught up with Lydia's train of thought – because that was a really good question. Who on earth would send this? Was it some kind of warning to back off before Derek hurt Stiles too? Who even knew that Stiles was going out to the old Hale house, visiting Derek? No one was supposed to know that. And even if they did, why would they care? And why send an article from a five year old newspaper to somehow leave a message? One Stiles couldn't interpret, no less.

"Do you think it was your friend who sent it?" Lydia asked, voice tight. Stiles wet his bottom lip and shook his head.

"No, he definitely wouldn't do it like this. I'm not sure if he would even tell me, if he had a choice." Either because Derek might be guilty of the murder himself or just because he was a terribly private person. "And I don't-... no one knows about us being friends."

He might have stuttered a little over the word 'friends' and Lydia raised one of her eyebrows but didn't comment further.

"Then I am suitably freaked out, Stiles. Why would someone drop this in with our mail? What do they want?"

"I don't know," he answered truthfully, flopping down on the chair again. He had no idea.

Someone apparently wanted him to know about Derek's dead sister but he couldn't fathom who or why. Derek definitely wouldn't – Stiles wasn't even sure if Derek knew where he lived – but that only left some nameless, faceless person hiding in the shadows. Someone who knew that Stiles had been paying visits to Derek and apparently knew where to find Stiles – probably that Derek was a werewolf too. That was actually more terrifying than the thought of Derek accidentally killing his sister – if that was even what had happened.

Stiles' leg was bouncing up and down, an old habit of restlessness that he hadn't quite been able to get rid of.

"Stiles. Is this friend of yours bad news? Because I will call your dad if I have to."

Stiles looked up in surprise, feeling the sharp bite of panic.

"What? No! Derek is-... well, he's a bit rough around the edges perhaps but he doesn't hang out with the wrong crowd or anything like that."

Mainly because Derek doesn't hang out at all. Lydia still looked doubtful.

"His number one hobby is to read, for crying out loud! How bad can he be?" Stiles exclaimed, feeling his hackles rise. He was still going to defend Derek. Stiles had no idea what had happened to Derek's sister, even if a seed of doubt was niggling at the back of his mind. Hadn't Derek himself told him that werewolves were capable of causing quite a lot of damage once angered?

"Dahmer was a born-again Christian, Stiles, and Gacy loved painting clowns. But I wouldn't exactly call it wise for young boys to spend time with them, just because of that one character trait."

"Did you just compare Derek to two convicted serial killers?" Stiles didn't even feel sorry for raising his voice. "Derek is a great guy, okay? But he's been through a lot so he's pretty careful and a little defensive, but that's all. I've known him for two months, Lydia, and I'm not stupid. He's not going to hurt me."

Lydia pursed her lips but nodded eventually.

"Fine. I guess I'll have to trust you on that." She sounded reluctant but at least made an effort. "But you better ask him about this – why anyone would send this to you. Because it's obviously some kind of message that I'm not even sure if I want to understand."

Stiles looked down at the article again, complete with a photo of what he assumed was Laura during her high school years. They had apparently not been able to get a more recent photo, even if she had probably been a lot older at the time of her death. Derek's older sister. It was difficult to see any resemblance because Derek's face was so twisted by the werewolf features that it didn't even look human. That made Stiles incredibly sad for some reason. Stiles cleared his throat and nodded.

"Yeah, I'll ask."

He had to. Lydia had every right to be freaked out and Stiles, well, he wanted some answers. He needed to know that Derek didn't kill his sister.

So he would ask. He just had to figure out _how_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because we need some plot too ;) Amongst all the casual touching and adorableness xD
> 
> There might be some formatting issues in the text this week becuse I'm at a friend's and she didn't have Word on her computer (or any other decent programe with the same function) so I had to use different means than usual when looking through it and making it ready. I'll look it over later to make sure I didn't miss anything.
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) is my tireless and ever faithful beta (I have no idea why)!


	5. The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

 

* * *

 

"So have you talked to him yet?" Lydia asked, almost as if in a passing, while browsing through the hangers with colorful dresses. Stiles wasn't quite sure why he was there with her but that was, on the other hand, Lydia in a nutshell.

"No, Lydia, I haven't talked to him yet. It's barely been a day!" Stiles snorted. "I don't see him every day."

"No, just around four times a week," she replied with a knowing little smile. Stiles mouth fell open.

"Wha-? Have you been _spying_ on me?"

Lydia rolled her eyes and turned her back on the dresses, heading for something else Stiles probably had no knowledge about. He just trailed after her like an obedient puppy.

"Stiles, it's not spying when we live in the same apartment. Besides, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that's where you've been going these past two months, whenever you haven't been home."

"Hey! I could have been at the library! I said I was at the library a couple of those times!"

Lydia patted his cheek in a rather condescending manner.

"And that was you admitting that you weren't. You can't fool me, Stiles. You've been spending a lot of time with this Derek character." Lydia was leading them out from the clothes store – to Stiles' great relief – towards the small café located just opposite to it in the mall. "And you like him."

Stiles knew that he was walking a fine edge here and cleared his throat, trying to hide how nervous he suddenly was.

"Well, yeah." He shrugged nonchalantly. "He's nice and all. It's sort of... uncomplicated hanging out with him. He's a good friend."

Lydia gave him a deadpan look.

"Please, Stiles, don't even try to deny it. You _like_ him."

Stiles grit his teeth for a moment before straightening.

"So what if I do?"

Lydia stopped and turned towards him with a smile. But it wasn't one of her manipulative, teasing smiles – it was that genuine one that always managed to make Stiles' breath catch. He was over her, yes, but she was still stunningly beautiful when she smiled.

"Then nothing. I just wanted to hear you say it." She patted him on the chest, like a mother praising her son. "You're so cute when you get defensive over the people you like."

Stiles wasn't sure if that was an insult or a compliment so instead of replying he just hurried after Lydia when she started walking towards the counter again. He narrowly avoided bumping into a mother with her obedient little toting kid before he stopped next to his very annoying and nosy roommate.

"You take a certain amount of pleasure in messing with my private life, don't you?" he accused while Lydia studied the variety of different types of coffees and teas the café offered.

"Mmh. Great pleasure, actually. It's a good way to pass the time between exams," she replied in a soft, elegant drawl. Only Lydia could drawl elegantly.

Stiles was about to explain just how insulted that made him feel when she patted his arms and talked right over whatever it was he had planned to say.

"I need to go to the restroom. I'll just have my usual. Order for me, will you?"

She was off before Stiles had as much as gotten a word in and he stared at the depressingly long queue with a groan. Lydia was horrible sometimes. But, since he didn't have much else to do Stiles joined the throng of people waiting to get their next caffeine high.

Stiles let his thoughts wander while he waited. The article about Laura Hale still worried him. He was going to talk to Derek about it but since he had no idea what to say he might have postponed it for the time being. Just for a day so far but that was bad enough. Derek needed to know that someone was aware of them hanging out, and perhaps even that Derek was a werewolf. Stiles had always figured that that was a secret Derek wanted to keep from the general public.

He sighed and rubbed one of his eyes. He needed to get more sleep.

Stiles nearly tripped when the guy behind him in the queue suddenly bumped into him. A hand shot out to stabilize him, gripping surprisingly tight around Stiles' elbow.

"I am terribly sorry about that! The queue was moving and I thought..." the guy trailed off, nodding at the gap Stiles had apparently failed to notice.

"Uh... sorry, my bad." Stiles smiled a little awkwardly before taking the step he had missed, noting a little belatedly that the hand around his elbow lingered longer than socially acceptable.

"Hey, let me buy you your coffee, as an apology?"

Stiles looked at the man with a small frown. He seemed to be a quite a bit older than Stiles but still fairly handsome with short brown hair and hints of a beard, but there was something with the way he smiled that didn't come across as entirely sincere.

"No, it's okay. I didn't even fall over," Stiles assured, moving to place his order. The guy working the cash register barely even looked up to meet Stiles' eye when he handed him the money.

"Waiting for someone?"

Stiles almost jumped in surprise, looking at the insistent man next to him.

"What?" Stiles wasn't following.

"You ordered for two," the man explained with a charming smile, "so you must be waiting for someone. A girlfriend, perhaps? Or a boyfriend?"

Stiles inched backwards, a shiver running down his spine. This guy was giving him the creeps. A feeling that only strengthened when the man moved closer, despite Stiles' attempts to back away.

"Perhaps you would be interest-"

"Pass."

Stiles hadn't noticed Lydia's return until she was hooking her arm possessively around Stiles' and snapped a reply that made the man reel back an inch. Stiles wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or insulted that she felt a need to swoop in and rescue him. But he had to admit that her sharp, challenging gaze was a lot scarier than anything he could accomplish.

"We're leaving," she announced briskly before reaching for her coffee that the cashier had just placed on the counter. Stiles hurried to grab his before Lydia towed him away from the creepy stranger.

She wasn't quite fast enough though since Stiles felt his shoulder brush against the man's chest when he crowded closer, and Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt fingers whisper just shy of his neck. Stiles was a hair's breadth from whirling around and punching the guy in the face because that was just invasive and disgusting and so not okay.

To his surprise Lydia's grip tightened to the point where he couldn't turn around without dragging her along and between one beat and the next the moment passed.

"Lydia!" he hissed angrily, but she just kept dragging him along, away from the creep. Stiles threw a quick glance over his shoulder and almost stumbled when he received a patient, pleased smile and a quirky little wave for his efforts. That man was definitely making Stiles uncomfortable.

It wasn't until Lydia had steered them into a boutique on the other end of the mall that she allowed him to stop and catch his breath.

"Who was that?" she demanded, as if Stiles had any idea.

"I don't know! He just bumped into me and started getting freaky. And I'm pretty sure he just molested my neck." Stiles rubbed the spot with the hand that Lydia had finally released from her clutches. "Either that or he needs to take a crash course on how to flirt like a normal human being."

Lydia scoffed before taking a sip from her coffee.

"He's too old for you anyway."

"Yeah, sure, because that's _totally_ what I found most offensive about him." Stiles' voice was laced with sarcasm and Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Stay away from the creeps, Stiles. I won't always be here to protect your virtue."

If Stiles had been any less certain of Lydia's brilliance he might have objected to that statement. But now he knew better and merely sipped his coffee to avoid having to answer and possibly get himself castrated.

"Stick with your precious little Derek instead."

Stiles promptly snorted on his coffee.

Lydia observed him with that calm and superior kind of amusement she expressed whenever she saw regular mortals like Stiles make a total fool out of himself. It took him a moment to stop spluttering.

"I told you, it's not like that!" Stiles squeaked in a highly unmanly fashion, mainly because he was still having trouble breathing. Lydia patted his arm consolingly.

"You keep telling yourself that." She strolled further into the boutique and Stiles followed on pure habit. "I do hope you intend to see him tonight."

Stiles wanted to object but a part of him knew that the sooner he did the easier it would be to talk to Derek. He couldn't help letting his defiance bleed through though.

"Right, because I'm going to have such a marvelous time asking him why someone dumped an article about his sister's murder in my mailbox. Lovely," he snarked. Lydia was used to it though and barely batted an eyelash.

"Well, if that's how you're going to break it to him I think you might have a problem." She tilted her head to the side, innocently studying a top that was on display. "I am also quite intrigued by the fact that you keep saying 'murdered' when the police determined it to be an animal attack."

She looked at him, gaze sharp and unrelenting.

"That's not usually defined as murder, Stiles."

Stiles' heart leapt up into his throat. He hadn't thought of that. Stiles had been too busy worrying about Derek possibly being responsible to consider how he phrased himself. But Lydia was far too smart to miss it. Shit.

He couldn't exactly explain his reasoning to her either because she didn't know about werewolves. She wouldn't understand why the strands of wolf hairs found by the police had any significance besides pointing to an animal attack.

He opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. So eventually he closed it again and sighed, leaning his hip against one of the display tables.

"I don't know. I just... something doesn't feel right. Why would anyone send it to me if it was just a regular animal attack? What does it have to do with me?"

Lydia looked thoughtful, her manicured index finger tapping against the cardboard cup containing her coffee.

"Perhaps it's about Derek."

Oh no. Dangerous territory. He couldn't let Lydia start suspecting Derek of anything, not when Stiles himself couldn't quite let go of the thought. And he _knew_ Derek. Had seen him freak out just because he grabbed Stiles' wrist a little too tightly. Lydia wouldn't give him a chance.

"How? Because I already knew he's been through some rough times even if I don't know the details."

"Perhaps he was involved somehow," Lydia replied with a shrug, but she was everything but nonchalant.

Stiles laughed. It was sharper than usual but he hoped that could be blamed on the circumstances.

"Like what? He has a pet wolf that he might sic on me? Seriously."

He wasn't lying exactly but he wasn't telling her the truth either. And for a normal person that was a pretty valid argument. Lydia didn't know that Derek was a werewolf so the whole animal attack-thing couldn't possibly be blamed on Derek according to the information she had.

Lydia narrowed her eyes, as if she was trying to call his bluff somehow, but eventually sighed and took another sip of coffee.

"Fine. But you _will_ talk to him."

Stiles spread his arms in indignation.

"Yes! Fine! I already said that I would!"

"Tonight." It was almost funny how much it sounded like a threat.

"Yes, tonight," Stiles repeated diligently. The sooner the better. He knew that.

It still didn't make him _feel_ any better and he kept drifting off when Lydia continued to drag him along, asking for fashion advice she always ignored anyway. He was so not looking forward to seeing Derek – which was a first. Usually he jumped at the opportunity to spend time with Derek. But perhaps it was because he knew that he would have to disrupt the careful and meticulous truce they had built together.

That was the last thing Stiles wanted.

Stiles wondered if it was just his imagination or if the steps leading up to Derek's porch really did wail louder today. Or perhaps it was just him projecting.

A part of him wanted to turn around and leave again but that wouldn't be very nice since he knew that Derek had heard him coming. And it was Saturday. Stiles always came by sometime during the weekend – usually Fridays – so Derek was probably wondering where he was. If Derek even cared. But Stiles was pretty certain that he did.

It wasn't like they had any other means to contact each other. Sure, Derek had an actual cell phone but he didn't use it. Trying to keep it charged would probably be more of a hassle than just letting it remain turned off in a drawer somewhere. Derek didn't have many people that would be interested in calling him.

Stiles walked in, one hand clenched around the copied article, to the point where he wrinkled the paper. He figured that it would be easier if he just showed Derek the page and asked him why anyone would want to send that to Stiles. No beating around the bush or lengthy explanations. Just get in there and ask him.

It was more of a solemn trudge than a walk though, and Stiles' feeling of dread didn't ease when he saw Derek half lying on the couch, reading as usual. With a pang Stiles realized that Derek had probably been waiting for him. When Stiles wasn't there Derek was in his room, not in the living room. He had been waiting for Stiles to arrive and looked up the moment he came within view.

Stiles felt a little sick.

"Hey, Derek, I really need to ask you about something," Stiles sucked in a quick breath and continued talking before Derek had any time to interrupt or Stiles lost his nerve. He held up the slightly wrinkled paper. "Someone left this in my mail yesterday and-"

He didn't get any further before Derek's nostrils flared and he started growling. Stiles was so stunned that he fell silent. Derek hadn't had a reason to growl in weeks, least of all towards Stiles.

"Whoa! Derek, what's-" Stiles took a step closer, only to have Derek leap over the back of the couch to get further away from him. To Stiles' immense surprise Derek's eyes were glowing again in that shocking, brilliant blue and a vicious, defensive snarl had Stiles recoiling.

What on earth was going on?

Stiles felt something twist in his chest and he held up his hands on pure reflex, as if to show that he was unarmed.

"Derek, what's wrong?" Stiles asked carefully, taking a slow, measured step closer. Derek still backed away with a sharp, barking sound that was probably some kind of warning for Stiles not to try that again. Stiles' hands began to tremble.

"Did something happen? Derek, please say something." Stiles knew that he sounded pleading but what else could he do? He was worried. Derek hadn't been this upset since they got to know each other two months ago and Stiles had no idea what had made him flip back to it.

"Derek? Talk to me."

The thing was that Derek didn't look angry – he looked terrified. It seemed like he was trying to keep a threat at bay, as if it was a matter of life and death. But it was just Stiles. What had Stiles done?

"Derek, please, you're freaking me out here and-"

"Leave!"

Stiles flinched, blinking stupidly for a second or two. That hurt. It really hurt.

"What?" he asked, voice low and just this side of brittle.

"Get out!" Derek snarled, crouched low, as if he was ready to attack if Stiles dared to come closer.

"B-but-"

"I said LEAVE!" Derek's roar shook the house and Stiles jumped back, banging his shoulder against the doorframe.

His thoughts were spinning but nothing made sense. Derek had been happy when Stiles came. Stiles had seen that spark of recognition and delight – Derek wasn't afraid of showing it anymore. But it had morphed into something completely different and Stiles hadn't even had time ask about Laura. This was something else – something that made Derek so utterly terrified that he was kicking Stiles out.

And they had spent almost two months getting to know each other. Just a couple of days ago Derek had traced random constellations on Stiles' arm with the most adorable look of concentration that Stiles had ever seen on a grown man's face. Derek had been happy.

"Derek, please tell me what's wrong. I don't understand!" Stiles begged but Derek's only reply was to growl louder, harsher.

Stiles swallowed, his heart beating furiously in his chest. An ache was growing within him, nestled deep inside his ribcage. It was harder to breathe than it should be. Stiles' hands trembled and he quickly tossed the copied article on the battered, unused dresser to his right. He didn't want to see how much it shook in his grip.

"Derek, you're scaring me. You need to tell me what's wrong. I'll fix it, I promise, but you need to tell me what's-"

"YOU!" Derek's voice sounded nothing like it usually did. He had made it a habit to speak softer whenever Stiles came over but now he fell back on that terrifying, rumbling baritone that might as well have come from a growling, murderous monster.

"GET OUT!"

Stiles couldn't breathe and when Derek took a step forward Stiles felt the first flare of fear since they had started their unlikely friendship. Derek had always gone out of his way not to scare or hurt Stiles but now he felt the panic return. Derek was signaling that he was willing to attack. If Stiles stayed he might actually get hurt. Derek might hurt him.

Stiles wasn't sure if he imagined the choked little whine he gave before he stumbled back and fled, but he knew for a fact that the burn of tears was real. It remained when he reached his Jeep and when he hurriedly drove off, tires digging through the old, wilted leaves. No tears fell though. He wouldn't let them.

He still had to stop before he took the turn out onto the highway, in an attempt to curb the worst of the shaking. Stiles closed his eyes and tried to bite back the panic that pulsed like a sickness in his chest, but it was spreading too fast. He could feel his arms go numb, his hands trembling uncontrollably, and when he sucked in his next breath there was no stopping it.

Stiles clung helplessly to the steering wheel and succumbed to the first panic attack he had had in over two years.

When Stiles eventually made it home he didn't tell Lydia anything. Not about the panic attack, Derek or how the conversation had gone.

She didn't press for answers and Stiles suspected that he got away with it only because he looked like shit. Or because he shuffled over to her the moment he got home and forced her to be the recipient of a very slouching, desperate hug. She hugged back and probably just assumed that Derek had freaked out about the article or something. Which was partly true. Derek had definitely freaked out but Stiles didn't know why.

He went to bed early. He had almost forgotten how incredibly draining panic attacks could be.

The next morning he felt lethargic and miserable and since it was Sunday he decided to sleep in and then just laze around doing fuck all. Lydia was kind enough to join him in his noble quest of wasting his entire day.

She was worried, he could see that, and when she asked him how the talk had gone she sounded more hesitant and considerate than usual. Stiles only reply was a shake of his head and a muttered 'later'. She seemed to accept that – at least for now – and allowed him to wallow in his misery.

He still had no idea what had happened. One minute Derek had been happy to see him and the next he had turned into the same growling monster Stiles had struggled so hard to get past. All the progress with Derek becoming kinder and gentler had been gone in seconds and it scared him.

The panic had settled and with that he was able to recognize that Derek had been just as frightened as Stiles, but that still didn't explain Derek's behavior. It didn't explain why Derek had suddenly seen Stiles as a threat. And it unnerved him. It just made no sense. But there was nothing he could do.

He knew better than to go back there, not when Derek had behaved the way he did. And just like that it was over. It wasn't likely for Derek to swing by and apologize and Stiles had no idea how long he would have to wait before he was welcome again. If that ever happened. He had no idea what had gone wrong in the first place.

Stiles missed him. He missed Derek something terrible. It only took a couple of days for him to get over most of the anger, fear and frustration and after that he just wanted to see Derek. He wanted to talk to him and have him draw close and trail a careful, gentle finger along Stiles' arm – as if just the mere act of touching Stiles' skin was worth his entire attention. Stiles missed the peace and quiet. He seriously missed the rundown house and all its characteristic sounds and smells.

Perhaps Stiles had gotten a bit more attached than he wanted to admit. It was just that Derek was so different from the rest of the world. A perfect combination of so many contradicting attributes. He was grouchy but sweet, temperamental but calm, dangerous but careful, broken but innocent. Stiles could go on forever.

And yeah, Lydia was right. Stiles definitely liked Derek a lot more than a friend should. He wouldn't say that it was more than a crush though – one doomed to fail considering their current situation – and he was going to try and contain it, smother it and never let it grow. It was better that way.

Life was suddenly so boring without his regular visits to Derek. School managed to distract him every now and then but Stiles lost focus more times than he dared to count. He got testy with Lydia when she wouldn't stop badgering him about Derek and she, in turn, got snippy right back. Not even the prospect of Scott and Allison's visit managed to brighten Stiles' hopes for the future.

Days passed – agonizing, painfully slow days – and Stiles hated every single one of them. Not just because he missed Derek but because they had ended on the note that they had. It bugged him that he didn't understand why Derek had freaked out. He knew Derek by then and it had to have been something serious, but Stiles couldn't think of anything that could qualify.

And he still had no answers concerning Laura and didn't quite dare to dig deeper on his own. He was afraid of what he might find.

A week went by, Christmas drew closer and Stiles just kept feeling morose. Derek was a dick, no doubt about that, but Stiles knew that if Derek just apologized and groveled some Stiles would forgive him. Well, after having gotten a really good explanation, that is.

More than once Stiles entertained the thought of going back to Derek's house, just to tempt fate, but Stiles never followed through. Mostly because he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle getting kicked out again – not after the panic attack he had had the first time. The uncertainty of not knowing how he would be received held him back.

It turned out that Derek actually beat him to it, to Stiles immense surprise. He hadn't expected that at all.

He was just walking home on Tuesday, a little over a week after their breakup – as Lydia had taken to calling it even if she didn't know all the details – when he caught sight of someone loitering at the corner of the building Stiles and Lydia lived in. Stiles didn't really care at first because the person stood partly hidden with the hood of an unzipped sweatshirt pulled down low enough to shield most of the face underneath. But not enough to completely hide the jaw – and it was a jaw Stiles would recognize anywhere.

"Waa-" Stiles hurried over and hissed low under his breath, "Derek! What-... you shouldn't be here!"

Derek didn't look up – probably because there were several people milling about on the street and the less they saw of Derek's face the better – but he angled himself towards Stiles and seemed to lean forward a little, as if he wanted to take a step closer.

Stiles first reaction was to reach out and pull Derek to him – for a hug, a punch or a kiss. Whichever really. He didn't know where the impulse came from but he had enough time to raise his hands before he realized what was going on and hastily snatched them back. Derek might still be pissed at him. He didn't know if it was okay to touch.

Interestingly enough Derek's hands, shoved deep into his pockets as they were, seemed to twitch, as if he had been but inches from doing the same. As if he wanted to reach out for Stiles too. It was almost a little awkward how neither of them seemed to know where the boundaries were anymore.

Stiles cleared his throat and ducked his head, just enough to be able to peak in under Derek's hood. Stiles had never thought that he would be so happy to see that frowning, hairy and actually quite ugly face. He caught Derek's gaze and thought that he saw both shame and hope there. An interesting combination.

Stiles imagined what it would be like to just lean a little closer and tilt his head until he could steal a kiss. What would Derek taste like? It made Stiles' heart race, just thinking about it.

But he knew better. Derek had to have a reason for being there, in almost broad daylight. Sure, Derek took care to hide both his face and hands as well as possible without looking like a burglar, but it was still a huge risk. One he wouldn't take unless it was something important.

"We need to talk," Derek said, voice low and careful.

"No shit?" was Stiles' deadpan response.

Derek gave a soft huff – the one laced with amusement – and Stiles couldn't help wondering what had changed. Derek seemed calm and gathered with no signs of growling whatsoever. Stiles couldn't deny that he preferred it this way though.

"Come on. Let's go inside," Stiles urged, tugging a little on Derek's sleeve. Because he couldn't _not_ touch him, apparently. Not when they were so close and he hadn't seen him in over a week. Stiles was actually surprised by how well he managed to keep himself on a leash.

Derek followed without protest and while Stiles wondered exactly how wise it was for him to allow Derek into his and Lydia's apartment he'd rather take that over staying out on the street. Because if Derek wanted to talk it might mean that they could fix whatever it was that had gone wrong between them. Stiles was definitely not going to let that chance slip between his fingers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay. I overslept, had a panic attack, missed parts of work and had to explain to my boss - during the scheduled meeting about my work performance - why I was late. She was amazingly kind about it and even made sure to give me time to eat lunch earlier since I missed breakfast, but it has still been a rough day and I am still behind on everything. Not to mention the headache and constant trembling. Ah well.
> 
> Things are a bit rocky for Stiles and Derek too, but they're working on it! The plot thickens even further ;)
> 
> Give my beta [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) some hugs and feel free to drop by my [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions!


	6. The Compromise

 

* * *

 

Stiles lead the way into the apartment, dumping his backpack on the floor with a practiced carelessness. Derek came shuffling in after and as soon as he had closed the door behind them he seemed to hunch less, probably because there was no one there that he needed to hide his face from.

"So how did you even find me?" Stiles asked while shrugging off his jacket. He turned to Derek, only to find that he hadn't moved an inch. He seemed busy sniffing the air with a look of innocent amazement. As if he was smelling something particularly intriguing.

Stiles couldn't help snorting in amusement, which made Derek snap back to the present.

"Your scent."

"I'm not sure if I'm supposed to feel flattered or insulted," Stiles mused while heading for the living room couch. Since Lydia was still in class they had the entire place for themselves, so Derek could follow when he felt ready to brave the rest of the apartment.

"It's one of the few scents I've had a reason to want to remember these past weeks. It was easy to find."

Stiles' heart did an excited little skip. Flattered it was then. He was infinitely grateful that he had his back to Derek, since it gave him time to school his features before facing him again. Derek still smiled that small, careful smile of his when Stiles did though, so perhaps Stiles was a little more transparent than he wanted to admit. Or he might have been blushing.

But Stiles wasn't going to fall for that. Derek had a lot of explaining to do.

"Alright, that aside. You said that you wanted to talk?"

Derek stiffened visibly before he nodded. It was odd seeing him with a hood on and Stiles had to clench his hands to keep himself from walking up to Derek and tug it down. Well, it was kind of cute in a way since it made him look younger and softer but also smaller. More uncertain and defensive. Stiles didn't like that at all.

He sat down on the couch while Derek fiddled with something in his pocket. Stiles wasn't surprised when it turned out to be the copied article he had left at Derek's in his haste to get out of there.

"Who gave you this?"

Stiles pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his chest.

"It was left in my mail, as I was trying to tell you when I came over. I have no idea who did it." If he sounded a little grumpy he thought that he had all the right in the world. Derek looked appropriately uncomfortable at the mention of his behavior a week ago.

"Then when did you meet Peter?"

Stiles frowned.

"Peter who?"

There was a Peter in his biology class – or was it Paul? – but he was pretty sure that wasn't the guy Derek was talking about. Derek frowned.

"My uncle."

Stiles eyes widened.

"Your uncle? I don't know your uncle."

Derek looked bewildered and took a couple of steps closer, finally shoving down his hood. Had the situation been any less serious Stiles might have giggled at how tousled Derek's hair looked. It was nothing short of adorable.

"Then why did you smell of him?" Derek's voice was accusing and Stiles felt a flare of indignation.

"Whoa! I have no idea what you're talking about, okay?" He shot up from the couch, waving his arms through the air. "I don't know your uncle. All I wanted was to find out why someone left that in my mail!"

"Then what-" Derek cut himself off, his jaw clenching in frustration. Stiles could hear how Derek's hand closed around the piece of paper in his hand, wrinkling the article beyond saving.

Stiles took a deep breath and stepped closer – close enough that he could easily touch Derek if he wanted to. And boy did he want to, even if Derek's agitation was tangible in the air. Stiles would do well to be afraid considering how their last meeting had gone but he had never had a functioning sense of self-preservation. Sharing an apartment with Lydia showed that.

"Just... start from the beginning, alright?" Stiles dared to reach out, carefully pulling the article from Derek's grip. Derek was staring at the ground, his posture stiff and reluctant, until he sighed in resignation. His shoulders hitched higher, as if he was trying to protect himself from a physical blow. Stiles' heart ached.

"It was my uncle."

Stiles waited for a continuation but when none came he realized that he'd have to ask himself.

"That sent the article?"

"Probably that too. But what I meant was this..."

Stiles shivered when Derek's fingers brushed against his, so gentle and careful that it was nothing more than a soft whisper. Eventually Stiles realized that Derek was referring to the piece of paper Stiles was holding. He swallowed, knowing all too well what it said.

"He killed your sister?"

Derek nodded, keeping his gaze lowered.

"She was an alpha and he wanted that power for himself. So he killed her. Ripped her in two and left her out in the woods to rot – as bait, to catch me." Derek's voice grew stronger and angrier the longer he talked and he was practically vibrating with a harsh, feral growl at the end.

Stiles placed his free hand against Derek's chest without even thinking about it. The tension in Derek's body eased and he let out a slow breath. Stiles could feel Derek's ribcage move and the beat of his heart against his fingertips. Derek was so warm under his palm.

"I refused to help him. He wanted revenge."

"For your family?" Stiles blurted out before he had time to stop himself. Derek gave him a hesitant look and Stiles decided that he might as well come clean. "I sort of... looked into it. Briefly. I just wondered what had happened and I knew that it was a fire but-..." He shrugged. "It didn't feel right. I barely even read the full article."

Derek seemed to consider this for a moment before he must have decided that Stiles was telling the truth, giving a short, sharp nod. Stiles slowly lowered his hand from Derek's chest, lest he succumbed to the urge to start stroking him or anything equally stupid. It was a very tempting idea.

"The fire wasn't an accident. They were murdered too, by hunters," Derek explained.

Derek had briefly mentioned that there were hunters who specialized in finding and killing werewolves but he had been reluctant to elaborate. And Stiles didn't really need more to understand the gist of it anyway. There were humans trained in killing werewolves – killing Derek and his kind. Stiles felt an instant dislike towards them all but he was, on the other hand, more than a little partial.

"Laura and I weren't there when it happened. Peter was. He barely survived and spent the next couple of years in a comatose state. Laura and I had no idea that he would come back, or that he would..." Derek trailed off and Stiles had to fight his impulse to hug him. They needed to stay on track if they were going to get to the bottom of this.

"You said that I smelled like him?" Stiles asked carefully, catching Derek's gaze. Derek nodded.

"Of him, yes. He left town months ago. I didn't even know that he was back and then-... you came by. And I smelled him on you. On your clothes. I didn't-" Derek held his breath, as if he was trying to find the words but none came. "I just-... I thought that you might be..." Derek closed his eyes. "I didn't know how to react."

Stiles heard what Derek wasn't saying. Derek had been scared. Stiles couldn't even imagine what it had to feel like, being in Derek's position. As far as good explanations went that was probably one of the few that could make Stiles forgive Derek almost instantly. Of course Derek had been terrified and lashed out if Stiles had somehow – however unaware he was of it himself – reminded Derek of the uncle that murdered his sister. Derek might even have thought that Stiles was in league with him somehow. It wasn't logical but who was rational when it concerned the murder of family members?

Stiles wished that he could comfort Derek by saying that they could go to the police, but Stiles knew that wasn't possible. Not when it seemed like Laura had been murdered by a wolf and Derek's face needed to be kept a secret. He had to settle for whatever reassurance he could give himself.

"Derek, it's okay. I understand that you freaked out. But there was no way for me to know since I don't have your sense of smell." Stiles smiled softly, catching Derek's hand in his, mindful of the claws. "But trust me when I say that I don't know your uncle."

Derek seemed to relax, if only just a bit. His hazel eyes met Stiles' and there was cautious hope there. Perhaps even trust.

"And the smell is gone now, right?"

Derek squeezed Stiles' hand before leaning closer, so close that Stiles could feel the warmth coming off Derek's body. Which was really quite distracting, thank you very much. Derek's nose brushed against Stiles' ear and he was pretty certain that he would have moaned had he not quickly bitten down on the inside of his cheek. Jesus fucking Christ Derek was tempting fate. Stiles only had so much self-control.

After a breath or two – Stiles could feel them against his ear, ruffling through his hair – Derek seemed to nod. Stiles had it bad if having someone sniff him could get him more than halfway towards aroused. Jesus. He needed professional help of some kind.

"All gone," Derek rumbled, voice low and surprisingly soft, washing over Stiles like a purr.

Stiles shivered and tried to think of something to say but his mind came up completely blank. So he just closed his eyes instead, his fingers still entwined with Derek's. As far as intimate moments with people he desperately wanted to kiss went this was definitely amongst the top of Stiles' list.

"Stiles, when did you see my uncle? He must have gotten close enough to touch you." There was worry in Derek's tone and Stiles took a deep breath – only to realize how stupid that was because all he could smell was Derek. And Derek smelled _good_.

Well, not traditionally good perhaps but he smelled of the woods, his house and fresh air, with underlying hints of things that were difficult to pinpoint or just plain Derek. Stiles loved it. He had missed it.

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly.

"I don't know. I mean, I go to the same college as literally thousands of other students. It could have been anytime."

"No." Derek shook his head and pulled back enough to catch Stiles' gaze. "It was too fresh. It had to have been just shortly before you came over."

Stiles frowned, searching his memory, and suddenly all of it made sense.

"The creep at the café was _your uncle_?" he exclaimed, not the least bit surprised by Derek's slight wince. Stiles might have shouted that a little louder than strictly necessary.

There was no other explanation. Stiles couldn't remember any other occasion where someone had been disturbingly physical with him for no apparent reason. And that also meant that Derek's uncle had done it on _purpose_. He knew that it would freak Derek out. Stiles wished, now more than ever, that Lydia hadn't kept him from punching the guy in the face.

"What did he do?"

Was Stiles just imagining that hint of a possessive growl in Derek's voice? He was pretty sure that he wasn't. And it really shouldn't have made him as pleased as it did.

"Freaked me out, basically. Bumped into me and wanted to buy me coffee, asked invasive questions and lingered closer than necessary. Touched my neck." Stiles was just about to rub the spot but Derek beat him to it, his fingers curling around Stiles' neck as if he could erase Peter's touch by covering it with his own. The sound Stiles made was pretty comical – an unattractive mix between a squeak, gasp, moan and just choking on his own breath.

Derek's hand was big and warm against Stiles' skin and it should probably have been scary to have those claws that close to his throat, but Stiles had other things on his mind. Like trying to curb the indecent flare of want that surged through him. This was serious business.

"Don't let him come close again," Derek urged, and Stiles was actually quite embarrassed that the gravity of the situation didn't hit home until then. He swallowed harshly, feeling an unsettling squirm in his gut, for several different reasons.

"What does he want?" Stiles was a little surprised by how small his own voice sounded. But he could admit that he was a little afraid. It was obvious that Peter was trying to sabotage things between Stiles and Derek, even if he didn't know why.

Derek hesitated.

"I don't know. But don't go near him."

Stiles almost rolled his eyes.

"He's a werewolf, Derek – I'm just a human. I'm pretty sure he could break down the door if he wanted to. I don't stand a chance against someone as dangerous as him. If he wants to hurt me he will."

It wasn't until after he had said it that Stiles realized just how stupid it was. The anguish that suddenly flashed in Derek's eyes was painful to watch. Derek pulled back as if burnt, way out of Stiles' reach, leaving only coldness behind.

"I told you to stay away, but you didn't listen." Derek's words were harsh but his tone held nothing but guilt. Derek felt that it was his fault that Stiles had gotten involved.

"Derek, that's not-"

"I tried to make you leave. I never wanted you to get caught up in this. I told you that werewolves are dangerous and-"

"Oh my God, Derek! I was just an observation!" Stiles shouted with a fervent gesture. "I chose to stick around because I wanted to, alright? I still do! And that's not your decision to make or your guilt to bear."

Derek growled low in his throat, his hands clenched.

"Just stay away from now on. Don't come to the house and if you see him again you run." Derek words were clipped and once he seemed to consider himself done he turned, as if to leave.

"Oh no you don't!" Stiles crumpled the article in his hand and tossed the ball at Derek. It was quite hilarious to see the big bad werewolf flinch and stiffen when the paper wad hit the back of his head, before bouncing off to land on the floor.

Derek turned, his lips pursed and eyes literally glowing in frustration. Stiles marched closer until he could poke Derek's chest, not the least bit afraid of the teeth and shining blue eyes.

"You are _not_ telling me to stay away. I won't do it. You don't have the right to tell me what to do. If I want to stick around then I will." Stiles held Derek's gaze with determination. "You owe me that. You might have been afraid but you still behaved like an ass and you're-"

"Stiles, stop."

Stiles completely ignored Derek's attempt to shut him up.

"No. No, I won't, because we're friends, alright? And I'm not going to let you run off and try to handle this on your own somehow, because I know that's what you're going to do. I know you."

"Yes, fine, okay," Derek sounded very urgent all of a sudden and looked strangely haunted, "but right now I'm more worried about the fact that your roommate is just outside the door."

Stiles shut his mouth to fast his teeth clacked and in the next second he could hear the handle to the front door turn. Lydia was under no circumstances allowed to see Derek. Perhaps if Stiles had had the time to prepare her for the shock it would undoubtedly be, but as things were now she would most likely freak. Shit. Emergency evasive maneuver needed.

"My room!" Stiles hissed and promptly started pushing Derek towards it. Derek complied readily.

Stiles barely had enough time to shove Derek through the doorway before he heard Lydia's confused question.

"Stiles, who was that?"

Stiles hastily slammed the door shut behind Derek before turning around to face Lydia.

"Auhm, no one. I mean, yes," he rambled, back pressed against his door while Lydia raised a dubious eyebrow, "it's definitely someone but let's not get into that right now."

A teasing, knowing smile spread on Lydia's lips and Stiles felt a wave of trepidation. It didn't seem like Lydia had managed to see Derek's face but that smile of hers was unsettling.

"It's Derek, isn't it?"

Stiles opened his mouth and fumbled for words but he ended up looking more like a confused goldfish than anything else.

"Well, yeah... I mean, maybe."

Lydia snickered, her purse hanging in the crook of her elbow.

"Do you two want some time alone?"

"What?" Stiles squeaked in panic. Her tone left very little to the imagination. "No! Or, well, _yes_. We need to talk. He's..." Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly. "We're sorting things out."

"Good. I was growing tired of having you moping around," Lydia replied with a pleased curl to her lips, completely ignoring Stiles' insulted protest. She glanced at her watch. "Well, I'll be going again in a couple of minutes but enjoy yourselves. If you need supplies they are in the bathro-"

"LYDIA!"

Jesus fucking _Christ_ Derek could _hear them_. Lydia didn't know that of course but Stiles did. Stiles knew that Derek's hearing was definitely sharp enough to pick up on that and he was not going to let Lydia finish that sentence. Things were awkward enough with Derek without Lydia pointing out where the condoms were – as if Stiles didn't know.

Lydia smirked and placed a quick kiss on Stiles' cheek before striding towards her room, calling back over her shoulder.

"Good luck!"

Stiles wanted to throttle her, but settled for some muttered insults. Once she was out of sight Stiles quickly opened the door and slipped inside his room, careful not to allow even a glimpse of what was inside. He dreaded facing Derek again but with any luck he hadn't been listening – or understood what Lydia was talking about.

When Stiles met Derek's gaze he actually felt himself slump in relief. Derek looked pretty much like he always did – constipated and grumpy – with only the slightest hint of unsettlement, probably more due to Lydia's presence than what she had said. Derek wasn't used to people.

Stiles forced a smile.

"Sorry about that. I didn't think that she would be home yet."

Derek nodded slowly, looking a little hesitant where he stood in the middle of Stiles' room, as if he was afraid of touching anything without permission. Stiles cleared his throat and gestured towards his desk chair, signaling that Derek could sit down if he wanted to. Derek apparently didn't since he remained standing, hands showed into his sweatshirt pockets yet again.

"Lydia and I have known each other for quite some time," Stiles said, without really knowing why. Derek probably didn't care. "I had the hugest crush on her for like _years_ , but as I got older I guess I just grew out of it. Especially when we got paired for a chemistry assignment in senior year and we, well... started talking. For real. She was barely aware of my existence before that. But we became friends." Stiles wandered over to his bed and sat down on the ruffled sheets, giving Derek a slight smile. "Really good friends. And here we are."

Derek didn't offer any kind of sign that he was listening except for the way he kept looking at Stiles, expression blank and perhaps a bit too intense. Stiles swallowed and licked his lips.

"Anyway... I meant what I said, Derek. I'm not going to stay away." He met Derek's gaze, trying to convey how serious he was through his look alone. "We don't even know what your uncle wants."

Derek made a sound low at the back of his throat, some kind of mix between a scoff and a growl.

"Nothing good. I can tell you that much."

Stiles took a deep breath, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"It's obvious that he has something against you and I seeing each other," Stiles said slowly, "and probably wants us to stop. Do you want that? I mean, really want that? For me to never come by again?"

Stiles looked up at Derek, who seemed to freeze in place. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, which might have been entertaining in any other situation. Stiles held his breath – he couldn't help it – and waited for Derek to say something. _Anything_.

When the silence lingered Stiles felt his heart sink. Derek cared about him – he honestly didn't doubt that – but there was no guarantee that Derek felt that Stiles was worth the extra effort. He looked down at his hands, not the least bit ashamed of the disappointment and hurt that burned in his gut.

"You're human, Stiles – you said so yourself. You could get hurt."

The unspoken 'and I don't want that to happen' hung between them for a beat, until Stiles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He guessed he couldn't blame Derek for worrying about that.

"Okay, so how about a compromise?" Stiles offered, getting up from the bed again. He thought that he could hear Lydia move around in her room but as long as she didn't come knocking on his they were fine.

Derek seemed to consider the suggestion for a moment.

"What kind of compromise?"

"I promise to be careful and to come by less, and only on days we've agreed on. That way you'll know when I'll be coming and if I don't show you'll-" Stiles felt silent at the look on Derek's face but forced himself to continue soon enough "-you'll know that something has happened."

Derek looked angry, but Stiles suspected that it was because of the thought of Stiles getting in trouble, not the details of the compromise. Stiles smiled weakly and placed a hand on Derek's forearm since his hands were out of reach, still hidden in Derek's pockets.

"Okay?" Stiles licked his lips nervously. "I mean, if you still want me there?"

Derek relaxed marginally before nodding. Stiles would have to settle for that. At least it meant that Derek wanted him to keep coming over.

Derek met Stiles' gaze for a second before looking down, ashamed.

"I shouldn't have yelled... back then..."

Stiles smiled crookedly, letting his hand run along Derek's arm.

"No, you shouldn't have. But I'll let you off the hook considering the circumstances." Stiles moved a little closer, Derek's eyes snapping up to meet his. "So if anything like that ever happens again you tell me about it, okay? I might not be able to help but it'll save us both a lot of agony."

Derek nodded in agreement and Stiles couldn't help grinning. Before he had time to change his mind he let his arms slip around Derek's waist and leaned in for a hug. Derek stiffened – not entirely surprising – but Stiles only smiled and squeezed a little tighter.

"Just relax. This definitely requires hugs," he mumbled, leaning his chin against Derek's shoulder.

For a moment Stiles actually feared that Derek would push him away but eventually Derek's arms moved to encircle Stiles. It was a little stiff at first, Derek clearly hesitant and unaccustomed to it, but the longer Stiles held on the easier it seemed to become.

It was actually quite cozy and Stiles could feel Derek turn his head so that he could bury his nose in Stiles' hair. A slight shiver travelled through him at that but he refused to let his libido ruin the moment.

"I missed you," Stiles whispered, both feeling and hearing Derek's responding hum. It wasn't quite a growl and not a purr either but definitely a sound of agreement. Derek hugged a little tighter and the sound vibrating in Derek's chest took on a content, pleased note.

Stiles smiled. Of course Derek had missed him too.

Their rekindled friendship wasn't exactly perfect right off the bat. They agreed that Stiles would come visit on Thursday and while Stiles looked forward to it he was also worried. They were bound to be awkward with each other.

Derek had sort of apologized and Stiles had pretty much forgiven him but there were still some sharp edges there. Like Derek going back to being a little cautious and reluctant to touch while Stiles tried to be considerate and not bombard Derek with questions about his murderous uncle and everything in relation to his murderous uncle. He knew that Derek wouldn't want to talk about it. Heck, had Stiles been Derek he was pretty certain that he wouldn't have wanted to talk about it either.

It was still frustrating because Stiles hated not having all the details and this felt like one of the times where not knowing might possibly endanger his and Derek's life. But he couldn't say that because Derek would throw a fit and start pushing him away again.

Derek seemed quite shaken when it concerned Stiles' safety actually. He was cautious and fidgety, his head snapping up at random intervals – as if he heard something and suspected it of being a threat. It would have been fine if Stiles hadn't jumped in fright almost every single time it happened and while he could technically understand Derek's hyper vigilance it was obvious that it was nerve wracking for them both.

So after having spent over an hour reading the same two pages Stiles sighed and got up from his armchair. A flash of panic flitted past in Derek's eyes – as if he thought that Stiles was leaving – but it disappeared as soon as Stiles flopped down on the couch next to Derek. Close enough that they touched, hip to knee.

There was a loaded, awkward pause where Derek simply stared at him in incomprehension and surprise. Stiles ignored it in favor of spreading out his blanket in his lap. Derek's house was getting awfully chilly the closer they came to Christmas.

Once he was finished he turned his head and gave Derek a calm, deadpan look.

"Stop acting as if someone is going to bust through the door and snatch me away. It won't happen," Stiles practically commanded.

Derek blinked once, then twice. He seemed wary and slightly unsettled, as if he had no idea how to react in the current situation. Stiles solved it for him by grabbing Derek's wrist and pointedly wrapping his arm around Stiles' shoulders, before leaning back against him. Derek was warm, firm and surprisingly accommodating.

It was stupid – masochistic even considering all the unholy urges Stiles felt on a regular basis by then – but it might make Derek stop twitching if he had Stiles within arm's reach. Not to mention that it was cozy and a much better way to conserve heat than a lone blanket.

Stiles shuffled around until he found a comfortable position curled up against Derek before opening his book again. Derek remained motionless, probably screaming internally in panic, but after a couple of seconds Stiles could feel Derek relax, their bodies molding together. The arm around Stiles' shoulders pulled him closer – oh so carefully – and Stiles followed, pliant and at ease. He had nothing against Derek getting cuddly. Not when they both enjoyed it.

And it really did seem like Derek enjoyed it, even if Stiles was the only one who focused on reading his book. Derek was more interested in staring at Stiles in absolute awe – which Stiles gracefully allowed at least for the time being. After a while Derek started tugging at the blanket draped over Stiles and it took a moment for him to realize that Derek was gently and reverently tucking him in – making sure that Stiles was as warm and protected as he could possibly get, nestled against Derek.

Stiles almost forgot how to breathe.

And when he felt Derek turn his head until his nose was buried in Stiles' hair, well, Stiles could do nothing but close his eyes and take a slow, stabilizing breath. It was pure agony but also blissful perfection. He never wanted it to end. Then again, he would have preferred to actually get a definition of what 'it' was first, even if he doubted that Derek would be forthcoming.

Still, he could settle for what he had, and right now that was a warm, affectionate werewolf apparently determined to spoil him rotten with cuddles and attention. Derek held Stiles like he was one of the most precious things he had ever encountered and really, who could say no to that?

Stiles cleared his throat.

"Do you want me to read to you?"

Stiles didn't quite know where the question came from since Derek could definitely read on his own and Stiles wasn't exactly at the beginning of the book, so Derek might not be able to make much sense of it. But Stiles could practically feel Derek's lips quirk into that awkward, half smile Derek usually gave as a substitute of a real one, pressed against the top of Stiles' head. Derek hummed in approval – a rumbling vibration that made Stiles shiver when it transferred to him due to their close proximity – and suddenly there was just no denying it.

Stiles was in love.

He felt it in the way his heart beat elatedly in his chest and how he wanted nothing more than to curl up until he could hide his face against Derek's broad shoulder. He wanted to make Derek smile and see that adorably innocent fascination that lit up Derek's face whenever he got to touch Stiles. He wanted to keep Derek close and shelter him, and when needed be sheltered by him in return. Stiles wanted everything.

Stiles was definitely in love with Derek.

He hadn't meant for it to come to that and he had no idea if Derek would ever return his feelings, but right then and there Stiles didn't want to think too much on it. He just wanted to cherish the moment for what it was. Derek's presence next to him was reassuring and solid – something to rely and depend on. Nothing else seemed to matter.

So he snuggled a little closer while ignoring the slight snag in his heart that told him that he might be destined to never get who he wanted if he kept falling in love with aloof, hostile people like Lydia and Derek. He could agonize about that later.

Derek fingers, clawed as they were even if Stiles' barely noticed it anymore, wandered into Stiles' hair, combing through it with slow, careful movements. Stiles found himself smiling, leaning into the touch like a content cat.

Then, after a deep breath, Stiles began to read, his voice low but still perfectly audible. Derek continued to hold him close and Stiles felt nothing but utter happiness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote that final bit - with Derek tucking Stiles in and Stiles reading to Derek - I had to pause for a moment and just sit there, with my head against my desk, and breathe through the immense feeling of cuteness that overcame me. It was a glorious moment in my career as a fanfic writer. Absolutely fantastic.
> 
> And I love writing Lydia. Have I mentioned that? Well, I do.
> 
> My beta [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) was successfully reduced to a pile of goo by this chapter. Because cuddles.  
> See you on Tuesday!


	7. A Little Piece of Heaven

 

* * *

 

Stiles' excuse for wanting to visit Derek two nights in a row was that he needed to talk to him about Scott and Allison's impending visit and the Christmas Holidays. To Derek he had only said that he was bringing a surprise, because he had every intention of keeping their deal and made sure to tell Derek that he was coming back on Friday night. Derek hadn't objected.

A part of Stiles suspected that while Derek was absolutely terrified that his uncle would hurt Stiles somehow he felt most relaxed when they were within each other's sight. And Stiles wasn't exactly going to complain about it since it meant that he got to come by more often.

Balancing the pizza box in one hand while opening Derek's creaky door with the other was a much trickier task than Stiles had anticipated, but he managed eventually. He strode into the living room with a big grin on his face and held out the box for Derek to accept.

"Tadaa! I brought pizza!"

It would have been a rather underwhelming surprise if it hadn't been for the fact that Derek probably hadn't had one since he started living out there in the woods. Stiles doubted that he would risk having someone deliver one to the house, and even less walking into a pizza place in person.

Derek looked up from his book with a raised eyebrow, trying to act cool, but Stiles saw right through him. Derek nose was twitching in interest.

Stiles placed the pizza box on the table before shrugging off his backpack to present Derek with something to drink. Stiles always felt ridiculously pleased with himself when he brought food for them, no doubt some sort of instinct to nurture those he cared about.

They sat side by side on the couch and even if Stiles was anxious about what he came there to talk about he couldn't help reveling in the feeling of Derek's warm body so close to his. Stiles never bothered to take of his jacket by then because it was far too cold without it, even when he wrapped himself in the blanket Derek had given him.

Stiles allowed them to finish off most of the pizza – well, Derek did most of the work and the look of pure bliss on his face was the only thing that kept Stiles from complaining about it – before he cleared his throat and decided to broach the subject that had brought him there in the first place.

"So... um, Christmas is coming up soon..." he trailed off, keeping his gaze focused on his slice of pizza rather than Derek, who had looked up the moment Stiles started speaking, "and some friends from high school will be coming over before that."

There was a short moment of silence.

"When?" Derek's voice was a little rougher than usual – as if he could understand what Stiles was getting at. Stiles wouldn't be able to come over as frequently.

Stiles glanced up, too quickly to really categorize the look on Derek's face.

"On Sunday. And we'll be heading back to Beacon Hills together at the end of next week."

It was short notice. He really hated that he hadn't told Derek about it earlier but they hadn't exactly been on speaking terms.

Stiles chewed through the last couple of bites of his slice, as if stuffing his face with food would dissolve the lump in his chest. It didn't. It only made it worse, his throat feeling dry and scratchy. At least until he could feel Derek tentatively brush his fingers against Stiles' hand.

"But you'll be back? After Christmas?"

The sheer amount of hope and vulnerability in Derek's voice made Stiles' heart clench. It sounded as if Derek thought that Stiles would abandon him, or change his mind about their friendship over the Christmas holiday and never return. Derek couldn't possibly be more wrong.

Stiles didn't want to leave in the first place. He wished that he could take Derek with him, but they both knew that wasn't possible. Not with Derek looking the way he did. People wouldn't understand.

Stiles swallowed down the frustration and desperation he felt growing inside him and grabbed Derek's hand instead, entwining their fingers until he could squeeze reassuringly. Some flour from the pizza lingered on Stiles' fingers but Derek didn't seem to mind.

"Of course I will. I'll come back as soon as I can." It was a promise Stiles intended to keep. His dad would no doubt be surprised by Stiles' enthusiasm to return back to school, but Stiles could deal with that. If he could cut the time spent away from Derek then he would.

Derek didn't smile but Stiles could see some of the fear melt away. After a beat of what seemed to be some pretty intense decision making Derek rose from the couch and tugged at Stiles' hand to make him do the same.

Stiles felt puzzled – especially considering the look of determination on Derek's face – but followed obediently when Derek started towing him away from the couch. His confusion only grew when he realized that Derek was leading him towards his bedroom. _Derek's_ bedroom. The room that was off limits to anyone but Derek.

He didn't quite mean to but Stiles froze on the threshold, staring at Derek with wide, surprised eyes. He was happy of course – his chest could barely contain the giddiness that was bubbling inside him – but above all else he was surprised. The implications of this simple act – the _trust_ Derek must have in him – took Stiles' breath away.

Stiles' hesitation apparently sparked a flash of doubt in Derek, his gaze flickering across the room before it ended up staring down at the floor. He looked dejected. Ashamed.

"It's-... warmer and I thought-" Derek cut himself off and his grip around Stiles' fingers loosened, as if he thought that Stiles disliked the idea of coming inside the significantly warmer, cozy room. Boy, Derek was really quite stupid sometimes.

Before he had time to stop himself Stiles had lunged at Derek, wrapping his arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. One part of him – a nasty, rebellious part – would undoubtedly have gone as far as kissing Derek, but Stiles knew that was a bad idea. A hug seemed startling enough if Derek's sudden stiffness was anything to go by.

But Stiles must have worn down Derek's defenses somewhat since it didn't take long before he relaxed and slid his arms around Stiles' waist in return. It was the best hug Stiles had had in ages because he could feel Derek soften and ease into it, like he was finally letting Stiles close – in more ways than one. Being allowed to enter Derek's room was an accomplishment in itself but Stiles felt that it was a symbol for something even greater than that. Something fundamental and incredibly important.

Derek trusted him.

Despite their ups and downs and the complications they had faced Derek trusted him. And Stiles trusted Derek, more than he thought possible when he had seen him the first time. Stiles couldn't even imagine what his life would be like without Derek in it. He didn't _want_ to imagine that.

The fire crackled in the fireplace nearby and Stiles smiled, his lips brushing against Derek's pointed ear. Stiles was pretty certain that he didn't just imagine Derek's shiver, but he said nothing about it. Better not if he wanted to keep Derek calm.

"Thank you," Stiles mumbled softly, "it's definitely warmer."

Derek hummed low in response and Stiles held back a tremble, but he wasn't fooling either of them. Derek had to know that the rapid beats of Stiles' heart and his heated cheeks wasn't just a coincidence. He had to be able to smell it on Stiles – the joy, anticipation and pure _want_. Stiles was pretty transparent by then.

But Derek didn't say anything. Stiles didn't know if that was a rejection or just Derek not knowing how to respond. Both seemed pretty likely and a part of Stiles might even be a little relieved by Derek's ability to ignore the not so subtle hints Stiles was sending out. Stiles didn't have to face any possible heartbreak that way.

There was something delicate and careful between them though – as if neither of them really knew what was going on and who should take the next step – but it was obvious that it would tip over soon. Something was going to happen – something had to break eventually – and Stiles both feared and yearned for it. But mostly yearned.

Because he suspected that Derek had no intention whatsoever of pushing Stiles away. Not anymore.

Stiles woke slowly, blinking owlishly in the low light. He had no idea what time it was but he felt at least somewhat rested. It took him a moment to realize exactly why he didn't recognize his room and why his blanket felt remarkably different than usual. It was because it wasn't his – it was Derek's.

Stiles was suddenly wide awake, both from surprise and confusion. He was pretty certain that he was lying in Derek's bed, burrowed snuggly under a thick layer of blankets. It was stupidly comfortable and Stiles felt the lingering smell of Derek in his nostrils. Yeah, definitely Derek's bed.

But Derek was obviously not in there with him – which was probably just as well – and it didn't take long for Stiles to notice Derek's sleeping form on the couch at the other end of the room. It didn't look entirely comfortable since Derek was much too large and had too long legs to fit on the cushions, but he still looked strangely peaceful.

A soft smile spread on Stiles' lips. Derek was tucked under a blanket of his own but it seemed to be a much thinner one than Stiles had, which Stiles was pretty certain was a conscious choice. The fire must have died out sometime during the night but its warmth still lingered in the room, sheltered and safe from the cold outside. It really felt like their own little piece of heaven.

The faint glow of Derek's half opened eyes brought a wider smile to Stiles' face and he found himself waggling his fingers in a dorky little greeting.

"Good morning." Stiles yawned. "I could have taken the couch."

Derek didn't move but his eyes opened wider, meeting Stiles' gaze.

"You fell asleep. I didn't want to wake you."

Stiles felt the burn of an embarrassed blush. He hadn't meant to since last night had in all honesty been nothing sort of awesome, where they had both curled up on Derek's bed, reading. They had sat so close to each other that at least one part of them was always touching – as if they just couldn't get enough of it – and Stiles couldn't even remember falling asleep. Although he wasn't surprised that he had. It was all so peaceful. Being with Derek made him feel peaceful.

"Sorry," Stiles mumbled a little guiltily, even if he couldn't deny that he enjoyed being surrounded by sheets that smelled of Derek. It was just a shame that Derek had felt a need to crash on the couch because he was too polite and careful to do anything else.

"It's fine," Derek replied while easing up into a sitting position. He did so more fluently than anyone else would have after having slept on a couch that was definitely too small for them. Stiles felt both impressed and a little envious.

"Thanks for tucking me in."

Stiles wasn't an idiot. If he had fallen asleep without noticing it then he couldn't have arranged with the blankets and soft pillows supporting his head. To his delight Derek fidgeted a little awkwardly before clearing his throat. He wasn't blushing exactly but he looked at everything but Stiles and that – coupled with the frankly adorable display of shyness – was enough to let Stiles know that Derek might as well have. It was cute beyond words.

Derek grumbled something unintelligible and Stiles grinned, wide and happy, before patting the empty space next to him on the bed. Derek blinked in confusion, looking surprisingly wide eyed. That was kind of cute too.

"Come here, you big, furry puppy." Stiles laughed, waving for Derek to come closer. Derek frowned, looking insulted, but he eventually pushed the blanket aside and got up from the couch.

He walked hesitantly, as if he was uncertain what Stiles wanted, but it was a testament to the faith he had in Stiles that he approached at all. Stiles smiled and patted the bed again, on top of the sheets, and Derek sat down gingerly at the very edge – as if he was afraid of touching Stiles all of a sudden.

Stiles rolled his eyes before reaching up to run a hand through Derek's hair. It laid pretty flat most of the time but now, when it was sleep tousled and stood ever which way, Stiles couldn't help wanting to touch it. He didn't doubt that Derek's hair would look very nice if he ever found a reason to style it, but when living alone out in the woods that was hardly a priority.

Derek leaned into the touch with a low, rumbling growl that was definitely best described as a purr.

"Lydia is probably freaking out right about now," Stiles mused, mostly to himself.

Derek's eyes were open half way – lazy and content in a way that showed exactly how much he liked being petted – but he seemed to be listening to what Stiles was saying.

"Call her?"

Stiles grinned, secretly pleased that Derek's first reaction hadn't been to say that Stiles should go home and calm her. Derek wanted him to stay.

"If I can find reception somewhere..." Stiles trailed off, getting distracted by how Derek turned his head, obviously to wordlessly direct Stiles to where he wanted to be scratched next. It was hilarious and adorable and Stiles could barely contain the growing warmth in his chest.

"On the second story landing," Derek replied, his eyelids fluttering close.

And that was very good information. Valid information. But Stiles barely heard it because his mind was busy short-circuiting when Derek's lips just happened to brush against the bared skin on Stiles' wrist, just above the sleeve of his hoodie.

Stiles held his breath, his heart suddenly roaring in his ears, but neither of them moved. Stiles knew that any wise person would probably have been afraid because Derek's fangs were a hair's breadth from his vulnerable pulse point and they could undoubtedly cause indescribable damage. But Stiles wasn't afraid. Derek wouldn't hurt him.

So Stiles didn't flinch away or stiffen – not even when Derek's fingers curled around Stiles' wrist, making it even harder to pull away, should he need to. But he didn't. He trusted Derek.

Derek's eyes opened slightly, glowing a soft, bright blue, but not even that scared Stiles. He smiled instead, his fingernails scratching next to Derek's ear, and it didn't take long before Derek's pleased hum started up again.

While a part of Stiles wanted to reach up with his other hand, grab a hold of Derek and finally pull him down for a kiss – it couldn't have escaped even someone as socially constipated as Derek that things were inevitably going in that direction – another knew that now was not the time. It was intimate, sure, but of a completely different magnitude. It was about trust.

So all he did was to give a gentle tug, coaxing Derek to lie down next to him. Derek followed – willingly and without hesitation – until his head was pillowed on Stiles' shoulder. It felt a little odd considering how massive Derek was, but it was also terribly heartwarming.

The fur on Derek's jaw and face tickled, sure, but the way he boldly cuddled closer, one arm wrapping possessively across Stiles' chest, was definitely worth it. Stiles could feel Derek breathe against his throat, once again something that should probably have scared him considering Derek's teeth, but he knew that he didn't have to worry. Stiles closed his eyes, his cheek resting against the top of Derek's head.

He wished he could stay like that forever, wrapped up in Derek's arms, shielded and sheltered from whatever waited outside the small, comfortable haven Derek had created for himself. For them. Stiles wanted to keep that feeling of safety and contentment for as long as he possibly could.

So of course it was taken from him just hours later.

Stiles didn't want to go back home in all honesty. Once he and Derek finally dragged their asses out of bed around ten Stiles called Lydia to explain the situation, even if it meant standing balanced on the topmost step of the stairs because it was the only spot in Derek's house that he had found with any decent reception.

She was understandably furious with him for not having warned her about not coming home the previous night and demanded to know where he was. The moment he mentioned Derek's name she calmed considerably – as if that explained everything. Probably because she assumed that something perverted had taken place. A part of Stiles kind of mourned the fact that it hadn't, but he was definitely not too disappointed either. The cuddling had been nothing short of awesome.

So after having calmed his worried roommate and assured her that he was in one piece Stiles didn't have that many reasons to leave Derek's house, since Scott and Allison wouldn't arrive until midday tomorrow. And Stiles would rather spend the remaining day with Derek than sulking at the apartment _wishing_ that he was with Derek. So he stayed.

They spent their time hidden away in Derek's room. Stiles chose to read while Derek proved to be quite adapt at Fruit Ninja, and since he was playing on Stiles' phone he seemed extra careful not to scratch the screen with his claws. Stiles was suitably impressed and cooed proudly until the moment Derek broke his high score and Stiles was forced to punch Derek's arm to wipe the smug look off his face. It didn't exactly work but, then again, Stiles liked it when Derek smiled.

They ate whatever Derek happened to have at home, which admittedly wasn't much but Stiles saw no reason to complain. He was content as long as he got to be with Derek, and Derek did not disappoint.

Ever so often Derek would bury his face in Stiles' hair and take deep, shivering breaths or trace a finger along Stiles' arm with gentle reverence. They touched and cuddled instinctively and without hesitation. Whatever inhibitions Derek had had seemed to have vanished and Stiles welcomed how _easy_ it all felt. As if it came naturally to them to behave this way. He loved it.

Sure, Stiles wouldn't have minded a kiss or two, but he was afraid of pushing too much. Besides, he wasn't yet _entirely_ sure if that was what Derek actually wanted. He was about 95 percent certain that Derek wouldn't mind, but even just five percent was enough to cause some hesitation. Especially when the person you wanted to kiss had razor sharp claws and fangs.

But that was okay. Stiles was a patient guy – he could wait. It wasn't like they were in a hurry anyway. It might even be better _not_ to indulge in something like that when they knew that they wouldn't see each other in a while.

They still came pretty darn close to kissing, what with Derek's habit of sniffing Stiles' hair and neck. Eventually that resulted in Stiles dissolving into a fits of giggles – Derek's furry face really did tickle quite a bit – and some playful pushing and poking which ended only when Derek scooped Stiles up in his arms and forcibly kept him from moving. Stiles didn't mind. He just relaxed back against Derek's chest and snuggled closer with a contented grin. He rubbed his nose against the underside of Derek's chin, not the least bit surprised to hear Derek's rumbling, pleased hum in reply.

It was the best.

Which was why it was so difficult to tear himself away later in the evening, when he couldn't postpone going back home any longer. It was possible to sleep over at Derek's another night and still make on time to pick Scott and Allison up at the train station, but Stiles knew that he would be smelly and uncomfortable after having spent so much time in the same clothes if he did. So no. He had to go back.

Derek followed him as far as the porch, looking gloomy and miserable. Well, more than usual. Stiles wanted to frame Derek's face with his hands and kiss that heartbreaking pout off his face, but refrained, if only because he'd probably end up staying with Derek for an indefinite period of time if he did. Stiles would no doubt cancel Christmas for Derek if he had to.

So instead he just stepped up close and sneaked his arms around Derek's waist and got pulled into an even tighter hug when Derek encircled him with his arms in return. Stiles buried his face against Derek's neck, inhaling his scent while pushing back the choking lump in his throat. Derek didn't seem to want to let go.

"I'll be back before you know it," Stiles whispered, but even he could hear how his voice quivered.

Derek didn't reply and it took several long seconds before he started pulling back, and even then he didn't go far – just barely enough to be able to catch Stiles' gaze before he leaned in and gently kissed Stiles' forehead. Stiles closed his eyes and couldn't help that he held his breath, desperately praying for time to stop so that he could cherish the moment as much as it no doubt deserved. But breaking the laws and principles of time and space wasn't that easy and before long Derek took a step back, even if he didn't look particularly happy about having to do so.

Stiles smiled weakly, his hands resting on Derek's hips and one of his thumbs hooked around one of the belt loops on Derek's jeans.

"I left my phone number, by the way... just in case you feel like, you know, charging up your phone again." Stiles shrugged a little awkwardly. "If you want to reach me."

Derek nodded slowly and Stiles wasn't sure if it was to show that he understood what Stiles meant or a confirmation that he would call or text sometime in the near future. Stiles assumed that he would just have to wait and find out the hard way.

"So... bye then." Stiles' voice cracked but he tried not to let it get to him. Derek still looked like someone had stomped on his heart.

For a brief second Stiles actually thought that Derek was about to kiss him. Strong, clawed hands had found their way into Stiles' hair and they were standing so close that their breaths mingled. It would have been a pretty opportune moment to kiss. A breathless, aching moment.

But it passed, Derek's gaze snapping down to look at the charred wooden boards under their feet instead. Stiles couldn't help the slight sting of disappointment but he forced himself to smile. Derek was probably just uncertain, possibly even afraid. But they could get through that given enough time. Stiles wasn't giving up anytime soon.

"Hey, I'll be back as soon as I can, alright?" Stiles coaxed until Derek looked up again, meeting his eyes. Stiles swept in for one last hug before he reluctantly let go, backing away from Derek's embrace.

It felt depressingly cold. Derek looked inches from reeling him in again and it took every ounce of Stiles' self-control to walk down the porch steps. He waved dejectedly while backing towards his Jeep and Derek's responding wave wasn't as much of a wave as it was a slight raise of his hand. Good enough, considering the circumstances.

Derek remained on the porch while Stiles climbed into his car and Stiles could feel his heart twist when he looked up at him while turning the key in the ignition. Derek looked so lost. Stiles wanted to abandon his car and rush back into Derek's arms, but he knew that was stupid. He had responsibilities.

So he forced a wobbly smile – one Derek did not return or react to in any major way – before he put the car in gear and drove away. It hurt. He wanted to turn around. He wanted to be able to bring Derek with him to meet Scott and Allison. He wanted his friends and his dad to meet Derek because Derek was awesome and adorable and Stiles was so _in love_.

But that wasn't possible. Not without a long conversation to prepare them for what Derek was and all that entailed – and probably endless reassurances that he wasn't dangerous. Stiles sighed, wishing that things could be easy for once. He didn't care about the whole werewolf thing or the way Derek looked. Derek was an amazing person and that was all that should matter. Life was so unfair.

Stiles' fingers clutched the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary but he had no trouble navigating the narrow road considering how many times he had driven along it these past two months. The Jeep's bright headlights were the only source of light in the woods, the rest of it laying shrouded in darkness. It was cold too and Stiles cursed the fact that he hadn't brought some gloves. His fingers would be frozen stiff before he made it back to the apartment. His Jeep really wasn't made for longer drives in cold weather.

He suppressed a yawn and slumped a little lower than recommended in his seat. Stiles really hoped that Derek would want to boot up his phone for a call sometime during the Christmas holidays, otherwise they would go weeks without talking. Stiles wasn't sure how he was meant to survive that.

Life wasn't fair.

Stiles blinked and between one heartbeat and the next a figure suddenly appeared in front of his car, bathed in the stark glare from his headlight. A person, in the middle of the road. Stiles sucked in a sharp breath and stomped down on the breaks on pure reflex, swiftly turning the steering wheel as he tried to avoid a collision.

His car swerved wildly and shrieked in protest when Stiles fought to keep it under control, even when the tires lost the firmer grip from the road and skidded across frosty, slick leaves. Stiles' heart jumped to the back of his throat. It all happened so fast. One moment he was floating in weightless uncertainty – a cold, harsh fear gripping the very centre of his chest – and in the next the Jeep came to a jerking, trembling stop when it finally lost momentum. The fact that it was still upright and hadn't hit a tree or a rock on the way was nothing short of a miracle.

Stiles' hands were shaking and his breaths were sharp, panicked pants, but all that became secondary the moment the driver's side door was wrenched open. Stiles almost choked when a ruthless hand gripped the front of his jacket and dragged him out of the car, heedless of Stiles' trembling knees and confused yelp.

He struggled against the grip – some feeble instinct that might or might not be just short of a panic attack – but it was relentless.

"Now, now, don't fight, Stiles. We don't want you to get seriously hurt, do we?"

Stiles gasped for breath, both due to shock and sheer panic. He recognized that voice – so smooth that it sent shivers down Stiles' spine. Derek's uncle. It was Derek's uncle that had stepped in front of his car and was now practically hauling him away from his Jeep and deeper into the dark woods.

"It's nice to see you again," Peter drawled conversationally, clearly not caring in the least that Stiles was tripping with every second step and barely able to keep up with Peter's pace. It was only the firm grip, now moved to the back of his neck, that kept Stiles from faceplanting on the forest floor.

Stiles was still trying to wrap his head around the situation, the adrenaline crash from the near collision making him shiver in the cold night air. He was probably going to die. That was the only reason he could think of that would explain why Peter was leading them deeper into the woods. You hid dead bodies in the woods.

"Here we are."

Peter stopped suddenly, not that Stiles could see any difference between this part of the woods or any other, besides perhaps that the trees were somewhat more sparse. It wasn't even enough to call it a clearing though.

Stiles was forced to straighten until he could meet Peter's gaze, the older man smiling pleasantly, as if they had just met by chance while out strolling in the woods. He patted Stiles' cheek.

"Be a good boy and scream."

Stiles blinked in incomprehension, staring stupidly at the werewolf whose claws were resting dangerously close to Stiles' throat. Stiles was terrified. Peter, unlike Derek, might very well hurt him considering that he was able to murder his own niece – Stiles was nothing to him.

"Come now, he'll hear you, even from this distance. It won't take him long to show up, I promise." Peter was still smiling. "If he does it quickly enough there might even be some pieces of you left."

Ice cold fear gripped Stiles' heart but he still managed to zero in on the one thing that could make him ignore his own distress. Peter intended to use Stiles as bait. Derek was the one he was really after.

Stiles clenched his jaw in defiance.

"No."

Peter raised an eyebrow, looking quite bored. Or possibly insulted.

"It will be easier for you if you just do as I say. I can always make you scream, you know, and I doubt that you'd enjoy that."

"Be my guest," Stiles hissed through clenched teeth. It was stupid, he knew that, but he wasn't going to be a willing part of luring Derek into a trap. He wasn't. He'd rather take whatever pain Peter would inflict on him.

Peter paused for a moment, looking into Stiles' eyes with a contemplative expression on his face. It didn't take long before Peter turned him around though, one clawed hand closing around Stiles' throat and the other grabbing his arm, twisting it painfully behind his back.

"I see why he likes you, Stiles. My nephew has always been fond of the feisty ones," Peter whispered in Stiles' ear while slowly pushing harder, forcing Stiles' arm higher. Stiles' free hand latched onto the fingers curled around his throat, but there was no way he would be able to make them budge.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to bite back the pain, his heart thrumming in his chest. His arm burned and stung, like sharp, harsh needles, and when he tried to struggle out of Peter's grasp it only seemed to make matters worse.

"Your arm will break or dislocate long before I let go," Peter declared somewhat matter-of-factly, as if it was standard procedure for him to torture college students out in the woods.

Stiles whimpered helplessly. He knew that Peter was right and he knew that he wouldn't be able to hold out very long. Stiles had never been a fan of pain. It felt like his bones were grinding together and Stiles was just waiting for the sharp snap that would signal them breaking.

He didn't know if what passed was mere seconds or long minutes but a particularly sharp twist sent a bright flare of hot, scalding pain along his arms and a sudden, agonized scream was ripped from his throat.

To his surprise Peter's grip eased marginally after that, but it was still too firm for Stiles to fight his way free – especially considering how he was gasping for air and struggling against his own choked sobs.

"Good boy," Peter mumbled, hushing Stiles in the single most disturbing display of compassion Stiles had ever been the recipient of, "that's a good boy."

Tears burned at the back of Stiles' eyelids but he forced them back, keeping his eyes tightly shut and his teeth clenched, as if that would stop his pathetic whimpers. God, he didn't even want to know how terrified Derek had to be after having heard that scream.

Stiles whined in relief when Peter finally let go of his wrist but the grip around Stiles' throat only tightened, to the point where Stiles could feel the claws dent his skin. It wasn't enough to pierce through – not yet – but it wouldn't take more than a single tug or jolt for them to do so.

"He's on his way, Stiles. He's coming for you. Just a little while longer," Peter drawled, his breath hot against Stiles' ear, "then it will all be over."

Unsurprisingly, Stiles didn't find that promise to be very comforting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the 'lulling you into a false sense of security'-chapter. I am a horrible, horrible person who shouldn't be allowed to write such sweet things and then end it all with a dramatic cliffhanger. My beta, [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum), undoubtedly feels the same. The amount of curses she threw in Peter's direction before this was over was truly magnificent. My other poor friend - Ludde - who got to read this chapter before anyone else, was ready to murder me when he finished.  
> ... although that was nothing compared to his reaction to the later chapters...
> 
> Also, [Roxette's Listen to Your Heart](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktRsl2hAPhY) always starts playing on a loop in my head when I read the chapter title. And it's not an entirely unfitting song.


	8. The Anchor

 

* * *

 

Stiles didn't know whether to be relieved or devastated when Derek showed up, emerging from the shadows between one breath and the next. In some small part of his mind Stiles had hoped that it was all just a terrible nightmare and that he would wake up before anything else happened. Before Derek got hurt somehow.

But it hadn't taken long at all for Derek to arrive, panting like he had run the entire way. Stiles had no trouble believing that and he felt a tightness in his chest when he saw the look on Derek's face. The desperation and disbelief. As if he had been praying that he would be wrong – that he wouldn't find Stiles in his uncle's clutches.

Derek stood several feet away, clearly reluctant to pass whatever invisible line Peter seemed to have drawn. He looked restless though and his hands kept clenching and unclenching at random intervals. Their breaths came out as small puffs of condensation, clouding the cold air between them.

"Derek, how nice of you to join us," Peter said pleasantly. Derek's answering growl was nothing short of terrifying but seemed to have no effect on Peter.

"Let him go. Stiles has nothing to do with this."

Peter chuckled but since Stiles couldn't see his face he had no idea what expression was on it.

"Oh but he does. You see, I left you out here to rot, cowering in that decaying house all alone, and I take great satisfaction in knowing just how miserable you are." Peter paused for a moment, probably to smile like a deranged psychopath. "Well, _was_ anyway. Until your little sweetheart here made an appearance."

Stiles bit back a whine when Peter nudged him, his fingers gripping tighter around Peter's as if he would be able to pull him off if he tried hard enough. Derek took a step closer but stopped just as abruptly when the claws dug deeper into Stiles' skin, making him choke on his breath. Derek didn't seem to know what to do. His entire body shook from the effort of holding himself back and Stiles could only imagine how much Derek wanted to pull Stiles from Peter's grasp, but that was a far too risky move at that stage.

Stiles did his best to convey stupid, ineffective reassurances with his eyes alone. He wanted to say that he was sorry – for getting caught and leading Derek into a trap – but he didn't dare to speak. For once he knew that if he did he might lose everything.

"The thing is, Derek, that I _like_ seeing you unhappy. It brings me a certain kind of joy that I can't find anywhere else. And Stiles here, well, he makes you _happy_." Peter placed his free hand on Stiles' shoulder and Derek's jaw clenched. "Do you see my problem?"

Stiles closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to see the heartbreaking look of guilt on Derek's face.

"So Stiles is very much a part of this. And I think that we all know whose fault that is considering your track record, my dear nephew."

"Fuck you!" Stiles spat before he had time to stop himself. His reward was a quick, harsh squeeze and it was nothing short of a miracle that Peter's claws didn't puncture Stiles' skin. "It's your-... f-fault, you crazy, murdering shithead!"

Derek seemed torn between pride at Stiles' ferocity and utter horror at his disregard for his own safety. Peter, on the other hand, just snorted.

"He's got quite a mouth on him. You sure know how to pick them, Derek." The hand on Stiles' shoulder eased down to grip his upper arm instead. "The fact remains that I have to handle this situation somehow, you understand that, right? Stiles here – no matter how entertaining he might be – is an obstacle and a distraction. You know I hate those, Derek. Stiles has got to go."

Stiles could see that Derek was losing whatever little composure he still had left. Derek was just seconds away from panicking and Stiles had no idea what that would result in, only that it would probably not end well for either of them.

"Derek, calm down. It's okay," Stiles croaked despite the fingers slowly choking the life out of him. Derek's gaze snapped to meet his and Stiles looked back pleadingly. After a beat Derek did as he was told, taking a slow, steadying breath. Stiles managed a weak smile in praise.

It might have been a lie – things were definitely not okay and Stiles didn't want to die – but they needed to keep a level head if they wanted to get out of this. He had no idea _how_ but he hadn't given up yet.

"Huh." Peter sounded both surprised and vaguely displeased. Stiles wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. "Have you found yourself a new anchor, Derek? Is that what this boy is to you?"

Derek swallowed and while Stiles only had a vague idea of what an anchor was he still felt pretty flattered. He did know that it was something all werewolves sought to be able to control their wolfyness. He didn't mind being Derek's anchor.

Peter apparently took Derek's silence as confirmation and Stiles could feel the change in Peter like a shift in the air. He seemed to go from playful taunting to dead seriousness in a matter of seconds. Stiles felt a chill travel down his spine.

"Well. That's too bad. I had half a mind to give him the bite and use him to tease you should he actually survive it-" Derek had gone unnaturally tense at the mere mention of 'the bite' "-but now I think that I'll just kill him."

Derek's growl was instinctual and he crouched lower, as if getting ready to attack. Stiles wasn't sure if he would be able to prevent that – not if Derek thought that not doing it would get Stiles killed. Granted that Stiles could get killed in the crossfire too, but the odds would be slightly more favorable.

Peter didn't even seem to care that Derek was getting more agitated by the second. He just chuckled darkly, like the true maniac that he was. Stiles wished that he could have punched him or something.

"And I think that you will do the honors, Derek."

Stiles blinked in confusion while Derek froze, looking absolutely horrified. Peter took a deep breath and then a rumbling, blood chilling roar shattered the stillness in the woods, echoing between the trees. Stiles' hands shot to his ears but no amount of effort seemed block it all out. Stiles' teeth rattled and Peter somehow managed to keep a firm grip on Stiles despite the frightening howl.

Stiles had never heard anything like it and wouldn't have thought that such a sound could come from a human throat. But Stiles' back was against Peter's chest and he could literally feel the vibration of the roar, shaking him to his core.

When the howl finally faded and all that remained was a faint echo Stiles was trembling. His ears were ringing and he felt strangely disoriented.

"There we go," Peter practically purred and Stiles was immediately alarmed by the tone. Peter sounded way too pleased.

It wasn't until Stiles looked at Derek that he understood why though. Something was terribly wrong. Stiles wasn't sure how he could tell but he knew, just by looking at him.

Derek was hunched forward and as he straightened his movements seemed a little sluggish – as if he was barely conscious of them himself. A heavy growl rose from Derek's throat but it wasn't until their eyes met that Stiles really understood why he thought Derek seemed off somehow.

That wasn't Derek. It couldn't be. Derek looked straight at Stiles but there was no hint of recognition – nothing to show that Derek had been inches from risking his life to save Stiles' mere seconds ago – and the fire burning in his eyes was pure animalistic blood thirst.

"What did you do to h-him?" Stiles' voice nearly cracked.

"I just gave him a nudge in the right direction," Peter replied with a shrug before he pushed Stiles forward, without warning and with far too much strength for a poor human to handle.

Stiles tripped and tumbled to the ground with a grunt, a twig jabbing between his ribs when he landed in an ungraceful heap amongst the sparse undergrowth. His insulted complaints died on his lips the moment he heard that same vicious growl, only much closer and far more terrifying. He looked up, only to wish that he hadn't.

Derek stood only a couple of feet away with fangs and claws bared, staring at him like he was a prime piece of prey. Stiles heart stuttered in his chest and he just didn't know what to do. Derek looked more like a feral monster than the gentle, careful werewolf Stiles had gotten to know. This wasn't Derek. Not Stiles' Derek.

Stiles flinched in fright and crawled backwards when Derek took a step closer. There was nothing in Derek's eyes besides a primal urge to maim and kill. And this time it wasn't about Derek being frightened or confused – it was just a pure need to hurt something. Derek _wanted_ to kill Stiles.

"N-no... Derek, please," Stiles whispered, his voice rough and trembling, the burn of tears making itself known, "don't do this. It's Peter, not you. Please, Derek. You don't want to hurt me. You'll never forgive yourself if you hurt me!"

Some part of Stiles' Derek had to be in there somewhere, even if Peter had done some crazy alpha mind trick on him. But all spoke to the contrary when Derek's growl merged into a roar and he took the steps between them, claws raised as if to strike.

"No! DEREK!"

Stiles tried crawling further away, his hands slipping on the cold, frozen leaves, but when that didn't work he just raised his arms in a feeble, pathetic attempt to protect his head. He choked on a sob and braced himself for the pain.

But it never came.

Derek roared again and Stiles heard the fallen leaves rustle, followed by the dull thump of bodies hitting the forest floor. He looked up in surprise, following the sound of snarling until he was greeted by the sight of two ferociously battling werewolves.

Stiles stared in confusion until he realized that whatever Peter had done must have backfired. Derek wasn't attacking the one Peter had intended. Stiles wasn't sure whether to feel relief or pride, but all of that became secondary the moment he noticed that Derek was clearly losing. Peter tossed Derek aside like a ragdoll, his back colliding with a tree trunk with crack, and when he hit the ground it didn't seem like he would be able to get up in a while. Stiles had a hard time holding back a worried shout.

He swallowed and got to his feet despite how much his legs trembled. He quickly looked around for anything he might use as a weapon but he couldn't even spot a decent rock. Stiles was absolutely defenseless.

"You just won't stop meddling, will you?" Peter growled menacingly, making Stiles look up with a slight jump. Peter's eyes were burning red, his teeth and claws transformed like Derek's, but his face remained eerily normal. He marched towards Stiles, his intent all too clear.

Stiles backed up a step, his heart in his throat, trying to think of anything that could potentially save him. How did you defend yourself against murderous werewolf alphas? Stiles knew far too little about them to think of anything on such short notice.

It turned out that he didn't have to when Derek suddenly tackled Peter to the ground long before he reached Stiles. Derek's claws dug into Peter's shoulder and back, trying to keep him pinned, but it was clearly not enough to slow him down for long.

"RUN!"

Stiles was somehow surprised to hear Derek's voice.

"Stiles, run! I can't hold him off much lon-"

Peter shook him off before Derek could even finish the sentence. Peter whirled to his feet with a snarl and landed a punch on Derek's jaw that had him crumpling to the ground. It would probably have snapped Stiles' neck, had he been on the receiving end.

Stiles made a move to help when Peter's hand closed around the collar of Derek's shirt, but Derek's panicked shout stopped him.

"NO! Just run! I can-... I can hold him," Derek gasped, despite standing there kneeling on the ground, clearly at a disadvantage.

Stiles' heart was beating like a hammer in his chest and he felt so utterly helpless, but he knew that Derek had a point. Without a weapon or means to defend himself Stiles would only manage to get himself killed.

"Oh, can you now?" Peter sneered, raising his clenched fist to deliver another punch.

Instead of replying Derek tore free from his uncle's grip, rolled back until his weight rested on his shoulder blades and planted his feet against Peter's chest. When he pushed off Peter went flying and Stiles couldn't help that he gaped, both impressed and a little horrified.

"Stiles, get out of here!" Derek was wobbling dangerously when he got to his feet and Stiles almost rushed forward to steady him, until he noticed the determined look in Derek's eyes. "Run. Just run. _Please_ , Stiles. I'm begging you."

Stiles didn't want to – every inch of him told him not to – but he didn't want to cause Derek more pain by staying either, not when Derek was doing his outmost to save him. Stiles was more of a distraction than anything else.

So he pressed his lips together in a vain attempt to keep the tears at bay before he nodded. The lump in Stiles' throat only grew when he saw the flash of relief in Derek's eyes. He looked grateful. Stiles felt horrible. Derek wasn't supposed to be relieved when Stiles agreed to abandon him.

Peter's furious roar was Stiles' cue to get a move on and even if it felt like leaving half of himself behind he did. He turned and ran, tripping and stumbling over roots and small bushes. He forced himself to keep going despite the sound of fighting and the startled shout of pain he knew had to come from Derek. Stiles was grinding his teeth together until it hurt, but he didn't stop.

He was going to get to safety and when Derek came to find him Stiles would yell and curse at him for being so stupidly heroic. Because Derek was definitely going to survive. Stiles wouldn't allow him to die. Not like this and not now. Stiles didn't want him to die.

The only reason Stiles wasn't sobbing by the time he reached his Jeep was because he was busy gasping for breath. The cold, sharp air stung in his lungs and throat and he was shaking from exertion. He couldn't hear Peter and Derek anymore and had no idea whether the two werewolves were still fighting. Stiles knew that he couldn't stick around to find out.

The Jeep stood where they had left it, off the side of the road, driver's side door wide open and keys still in the ignition. Stiles was infinitely grateful for the lack of traffic on that specific stretch of road because he wouldn't know what to do if anyone had stolen his car while he was gone.

It was beyond freezing when he climbed in but he ignored it as best he could while trying to get his car running. It took some cajoling and colorful curses but eventually she purred to life with a slight groan of protest. The relief almost made Stiles burst into tears.

He let out a slow, trembling breath while leaning his forehead against the steering wheel, his arm aching from the abuse Peter had put it through. He couldn't break down just yet. He needed to get back to the apartment. Even if Peter knew where it was Stiles didn't have that many options to choose from when it came to safe places where he could hide. Going to Derek's house was just stupid.

He hated leaving Derek out there, alone in the woods with Peter, but there wasn't much else he could do. So after a couple of seconds Stiles straightened, pushed the panic and worry to the side and pulled the Jeep back out onto the road. Derek wanted him to get to safety so he would. Stiles owed him that much.

Stiles was pacing inside his room. It didn't offer much in terms of space and he had been forced to kick a lot of his junk aside but he couldn't exactly pace out in the living room without alerting Lydia of his distress. She would ask what was wrong and while a part of him wanted to tell her he knew that he couldn't. She wouldn't believe him. And he wasn't even sure where to begin. Was it more important to explain that Derek was a werewolf or that a homicidal alpha was out to kill Stiles?

Stiles groaned and ran his hands through his hair. Angsting about it wasn't getting him anywhere but he didn't know what else to do. He had come back from the woods over half an hour ago and he was beyond himself with worry. He had no idea what had happened to Derek. Stiles wanted to go back out there and look for him but he knew that it was stupid, not only because it would put him at risk but also because he had no idea where Derek might be. They would probably end up passing each other.

So Stiles resorted to pacing. And when that didn't work he went to furiously do the dishes, just to keep his hands occupied. They had a dishwasher but Stiles was desperate for a distraction. He didn't even care that it made his already abused arm hurt more. He needed it.

Lydia came in at some point and raised an eyebrow, but since he seemed more frustrated with the persistent stains in one of the coffee cups she must have accepted it as one of his bursts of freakiness, not panic. But it really was panic. He was scared out of his mind.

He didn't correct her though. He wouldn't be able to handle her questions and prying anyway. It was because she cared, he knew that, but there was so much she didn't know. It would only serve to annoy him further if he had to stop to explain things all the time.

Lydia retreated back to her room, closing her door as if to say that Stiles was making quite a ruckus with his over-enthusiastic washing of the dishes, but he couldn't care less. He was too worried about Derek. He kept seeing imagined scenarios play out in his head, all of them ending with Derek dying in more and more gruesome fashions. If Derek didn't show up Stiles had no idea if he would ever find out what had happened to him. The mere thought made him nauseous and lightheaded.

It wasn't until Stiles heard a suspicious, dull thud – when he was in the middle of wiping the countertops down because he had run out of dishes and wasn't quite desperate enough to start redoing the clean ones – that he managed to snap out of his trance.

He was running for his room before he knew it and he suspected that it was only the music drifting from Lydia's room that kept her from hearing his stomping. Stiles was barely breathing by the time he barged into his room and the sight that greeted him knocked the last ounce of air right out of his lungs.

Derek was slumped by the open window – as if he had climbed inside but couldn't remain on his feet long enough to step away from it – and the blue glow of his eyes seemed frailer and duller somehow. His shirt was torn, with blood smeared underneath some of the rips and around his nose and mouth. He looked like shit. And all Stiles could think about was to hug him and never let go.

Stiles had enough presence of mind to close the door behind him before he rushed forwards and to his surprise Derek met him half way, somehow finding enough strength to move. It had to hurt Derek when they collided in the middle of the room but he didn't seem to care considering how he cradled Stiles' head with trembling, urgent hands.

"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" Derek gasped for breath. "He didn't-... did he bite you?"

Stiles could barely keep up with the slightly slurred barrage Derek unleashed on him.

"Whoa! Derek, I should be asking you the same thing! Look at you! You are-"

"Did he hurt you?" Derek persisted, making it obvious exactly how frantic he was. Derek's fingers wandered through Stiles' hair but there was desperation to it – as if Derek thought that Stiles would disappear any minute – and his eyes looked a little wild. "Did he bite you? Are you alright? I'm-... I could have-... Are you hurt?"

Derek was beyond terrified. He seemed just about ready to break. He was panting, either because of pain or exhaustion – heck, it could even be a panic attack for all Stiles knew – and it became increasingly obvious that Stiles needed to do something. So he hugged him.

He pulled Derek close, placed a hand on the back of his head and forcibly pushed until Derek's nose was buried against Stiles' throat. It always seemed to offer some sense of calm. Perhaps less now when Stiles assumed that he had to be smelling of Peter, but it would have to do.

"I'm okay, Derek. I'm fine," Stiles mumbled in Derek's ear, not the least bit surprised to feel Derek's grip change until he was practically clinging to Stiles, holding on for dear life, "he didn't bite me. I'm fine. I promise. I'm more worried about you."

Derek let out a choked, high-pitched whine that sounded far too much like an agonized, wounded animal. As if he was dying. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and held Derek tighter.

"It's okay. I'm here."

Derek's arms were wrapped around Stiles' waist and Stiles could feel him shaking. It was in that moment, when Stiles tried to sooth Derek as best he could, that he realized that Derek didn't have anyone else. Derek only had Stiles. And tonight he had come so close to losing him.

Stiles couldn't even imagine what that must feel like. Sure, he had lost his mom but he still had his dad, Scott, Lydia, Allison, Mrs. McCall and several other people he cared for a great deal. Stiles might not have an abundance of friends but he was never alone. Derek, on the other hand, had no one but Stiles. Psychotic uncles didn't count.

"I'm so sorry. I could have-... I almost-" Derek was rambling breathlessly.

"No, no, no, no. Derek, you didn't. That's the important part," Stiles interrupted, "you didn't hurt me. You didn't. You never would."

Derek only hugged him tighter.

Stiles felt his heart twist and he buried his nose in Derek's hair, stroking through it with one of his hands. Stiles continued to whisper reassurances but he understood if it took Derek several minutes to calm down. It was far too much to handle in such a short period of time.

When Derek eventually settled Stiles ran a hand along his back, the touch light enough not to jostle any injuries.

"Can I ask if you're alright now? Because I can tell that you've been bleeding quite a bit and it makes me worried."

Derek grumbled softly before he raised his head a little, enough to make sure that what he was saying wasn't muffled against Stiles' skin.

"Most of it has healed already."

Stiles felt a sting of alarm.

"But not all?" He pulled back, ignoring Derek's protesting grunt in favor of letting his eyes roam over the rips and smears of blood. Some did indeed seem healed – small scrapes and bruises – but apparently not all of them.

He pinned Derek with a sharp, demanding look and received a guilty squirm in return.

"For heaven's sake!" Stiles hissed, pushing Derek towards the bed. "Why didn't you tell me that you were this injured?"

Derek opened his mouth as if to reply but nothing came out. He looked a little dazed, as if the adrenaline crash was brutal enough to make even a werewolf feel it, but it could also be that he was emotionally drained. Whatever it was would hopefully make him more compliant as well.

"You stay here while I get some things to at least clean you up a bit, okay? We don't have much in terms of bandages but we need to see how bad it is, alright?"

Derek scoffed softly.

"I don't need bandages."

Stiles promptly slapped him at the back of his head.

"Try saying that when you _aren't_ covered in blood and bleeding gashes."

Derek looked insulted but didn't argue. He did seem prepared to hobble after Stiles when he made to leave the room though, but one look from Stiles had him sinking back onto the bed. Stiles could take a trip to the bathroom without getting into trouble. Still, he could admit that he made sure to be quick about it.

He gathered some the first aid-kit, towels and the tiny tub thing Lydia used for her foot baths. She would kill him if she ever found out that he used it to clean blood off of someone, but it was also the only thing in their apartment he could think of that could fill that function. So he would just have to pray that she never did.

Stiles carried it all back to his room, careful not to spill any of the water, and Derek was waiting obediently when he returned. Well, perhaps that had more to do with Derek injuries than obedience, but still.

Stiles placed the small tub of water on his desk chair, right next to the bed, and the first aid-kit within reach. Then he turned to Derek and motioned towards his torn shirt.

"Take it off."

Derek rolled his eyes but moved to grab his shirt and pull it over his head. His movements were clearly jerkier than usual due to his wounds but Stiles barely noticed. He was too busy staring.

Sure, he had always assumed that Derek was pretty muscular judging on what little he had seen so far, but there was a slight difference between pretty muscular and pretty fucking flawless. Well, besides the claw marks running along his right side. Stiles was caught between wanting to paw at Derek's glorious body and puke due to all the blood. It was a very confusing combination of impulses.

So instead of following either of them he cleared his throat and got on his knees in front of Derek. Which didn't help Stiles' dirty mind at all but there were definitely more important things at hand and he could focus on them. Probably.

Derek looked slightly confused – as if he couldn't quite follow the proceedings – but seemed to relax marginally when he realized that Stiles was just wiping away the blood with one of the wet towels. Derek leaned back on his hands to give Stiles more room to work, which _also_ gave Stiles a better view of the expanse of Derek's bare chest. Stiles had never been so focused on a task in his entire life.

There were times when Derek twitched and squirmed but he remained completely silent throughout the ordeal. Once Stiles was done with Derek's chest it was obvious that the claw marks were the only real wounds left. Stiles bit his lip and reached out, but stopped long before he actually touched them.

"How long will it take for them to heal?" he asked, voice low and careful. Derek tilted his head to the side, looking more alert for each minute that passed, as if his energy was slowly seeping back now that he was out of danger and could relax.

"A couple of hours. Peter's an alpha so it takes longer than usual."

Stiles swallowed, meeting Derek's gaze. It was difficult to see clearly with Stiles' desk lamp as the only light source, but Derek looked surprisingly calm.

"What happened out there?" Stiles asked quietly while getting to his feet, ignoring his knees complaints at having been folded for so long. Derek didn't answer right away and when he did he was as brief as possible.

"I waited until you had gotten away before I broke free and fled."

Derek didn't seem happy about it – he was a rather proud being after all – but Stiles was incredibly grateful that Derek had chosen to run. Stiles smiled softly while switching towels to a clean one, dipping it in the water even if it was already tinged pink. It would have to do since Stiles didn't want to force Derek to walk back and forth to the bathroom.

He placed his fingertips under Derek's chin, urging him to tilt his head back and look up. Stiles let his thumb rub against the fur on Derek's jaw line. It felt coarse to the touch but not entirely unpleasant and Stiles admired the strength and sharpness in Derek's bone structure.

"I'm glad you did," Stiles replied before wiping Derek's cheek with the towel.

Instead of answering Derek closed his eyes and let Stiles continue cleaning the blood off his face. It felt strangely intimate, perhaps because Derek allowed Stiles to get so close. He was letting his guard down around Stiles more and more often lately.

At some point Derek raised his hands and sneakily placed them on Stiles' hips, his grip warm and comforting. Stiles didn't mind. It made him feel grounded. A smile spread on his lips when the last of the blood came off and he could look down at Derek's furry face without seeing splashes of crimson. Stiles loved that stupid face. The constant frown, the slight underbite, the sideburns and how no one would ever compare. Derek was special. Derek was beautiful, just the way he was.

"There you are," Stiles mumbled softly, running a finger along Derek's nose. Hazel eyes met Stiles' brown and Stiles bent forward, leaning his forehead against Derek's. "I missed you."

Derek seemed confused by the admission but Stiles could only smile. He was so in love and he was so happy that Derek was alive.

"You scared me. I thought I was going to lose you and you're not the only one who doesn't know how to handle that kind of blow." Stiles tossed the towel aside before letting his hands wander into Derek's hair. "I wouldn't know what to do without you, Derek. Please be careful."

Derek looked completely stunned and Stiles' smile took on a sad hint. Derek didn't seem to understand just how important he was to Stiles. There was an intensity in Derek's eyes though, when he looked at Stiles, as if he was trying to find some kind of answer.

One he obviously received.

Stiles breath hitched when Derek's hands slid higher on his hips. Not by much but clearly enough to show that it was intentional. Stiles licked his lips and didn't miss how Derek's gaze snapped down for a brief second. His heart started beating faster and Stiles' entire attention was on Derek.

Derek leaned closer, hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure if he would be met favorably. Stiles swallowed.

"It's okay," he murmured, one of his hands sliding down to cup Derek's cheek. That seemed to be what Derek needed to hear. He reached up slowly and Stiles held his breath.

The first press of Derek's lips against his was tentative and a little nervous but still enough to cause a burst of warmth in Stiles' gut. Derek kissed him. Derek took the initiative without any prompting whatsoever. And it was so wonderful in all its tingly, innocent glory.

The first kiss was followed by a second, just as light as the first but definitely less hesitant. The third sent a shiver down Stiles' spine and the fourth had him moaning when Derek's grip around Stiles' hips proved particularly useful in pulling him into Derek's lap. Stiles was careful not to brush up against Derek's wounded side, his knees planted on each side of Derek's thighs, but he made no effort to hold back on his enthusiasm.

Derek seemed a little awkward at first with his closed mouthed kisses and it didn't take long for Stiles to realize that he was worried about the fangs. Funny thing being that Stiles wasn't, even if he knew that being careful was definitely a must.

Still, he had no qualms about licking along Derek's bottom lip, eliciting a delicious sound from Derek in the process. Warmth was spreading through Stiles' body and it only rushed faster when Derek's response was to deepen the kiss, his hands gripping Stiles' hips even tighter. Stiles' fingers worked through Derek's hair and the rumble of approval he earned from that was quite satisfying.

It was a little odd and not entirely practical to make out with Derek's fangs brought into the mix, but Stiles could certainly work around it. The feeling of actually kissing Derek – finally, after pining after him for so long – overshadowed any kind of complaint Stiles might have. It felt awesome.

His entire being was singing with joy and he focused on nothing but the feel of Derek's hands on his hips, sliding upwards and causing Stiles to shiver and arch into the touch, and the taste of his lips. Stiles had never felt anything quite like it, perhaps because he had never kissed anyone that he had been this in love with. It made everything ten times better and Stiles knew that he would never get enough of it.

They still had to breathe eventually – or at least Stiles did – and pulled back just enough to be able to grin happily against Derek's lips.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that," Stiles whispered, fingers still running through Derek's hair. Derek snorted in amusement and Stiles would have felt insulted had it not been for Derek's smile.

"You've been pretty obvious about it, actually..."

"Oh shush you," Stiles replied before leaning in for another kiss, pulling a little on Derek's hair in revenge. The growl he received in return was everything but displeased however. A part of Stiles knew that they wouldn't be able to take it further – not with Derek being injured – but they still had a lot they could enjoy. Like lots and lots of making out.

Or the fact that neither of them were against cuddling when it was time to sleep and they curled up together on Stiles' bed. Derek had assured him that there was no need to bandage the claw marks because they would heal overnight anyway, and while Stiles wanted to protest he eventually chose not to – as long as Derek didn't stain his sheets with blood. They were still careful to keep Derek's wounded side as far from Stiles as possible, on accounts of him having a habit of flailing in his sleep.

But that didn't mean that they didn't end up pressed against each other. Stiles fell asleep with his nose tucked against Derek's bare collarbone and he wasn't sure if he had ever felt so expectant about waking up the next day – because he would be doing it with Derek at his side.

His dorky grin lingered long after Stiles had succumbed to his dreams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it never be said that I don't reward my faithful readers with fluff and cuteness even when times are dire.  
> You love me now, don't you? At least a little. Come on, just admit it ;D
> 
> SO YEAH. Of course there had to be a 'clean the Beast's wounds'-scene after he saved Stiles' life. DUH. You had to have seen that coming.
> 
> My beta, [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum), was so confused over the fact that I managed to have the beginning of the chapter be full of action and suspense and then turn it around to diabetes-inducing sweetness at the end. I feel pretty proud about that, to tell the truth. Derek is so adorable and heartbreakingly nice that it HURTS. Okay?


	9. The Spell Is Broken

 

* * *

 

Waking up proved to be nothing like Stiles had imagined, mainly because when he opened his eyes he was staring straight at a sleeping face he didn't recognize. And promptly fell out of the bed with a muffled shout when he recoiled backwards in surprise.

There was nothing wrong with the face in question – it was actually well beyond handsome, landing straight into the territory of illegally gorgeous – but it wasn't the one Stiles had expected to see when he woke up. So it was still a bit of a shock.

Stiles spluttered as he fought against the tangle of sheets, half having followed Stiles to the floor while the rest remained with the alarmingly good-looking stranger in Stiles' bed. It was too early in the morning for this shit.

And his feeling of confusion only grew when that very same face appeared to peer down curiously at him over the edge of the bed. Christ, the guy was pretty. Stiles was momentarily distracted by the fond look of amusement on the guy's face – which Stiles responded to by sitting there in stunned silence just staring back at him – until he realized that he recognized those bright, hazel eyes.

" _Derek_?!" It was more of a squeak than a spoken sentence but Stiles figured he was excused. "What happened to your _face_?"

Never in his life had Stiles thought that he would find himself in a situation where he would sound appalled when the guy he was in love with had suddenly and without warning turned into someone more fit to be spread across magazine pages than Stiles' sheets.

Derek froze and blinked twice before sitting up on the bed, looking down at his own hands. There were no claws in sight. Stiles gaped.

"You-... you're not transformed. How-? When did that happen?" Stiles felt like an idiot, sitting on the floor and clinging to the edge of the bed with white knuckles. Was this Derek's real face? His human face? That was just so unfair and so unbelievably confusing and Stiles had no idea how to react except his probably offensive staring.

"I don't know."

Derek's voice was different too – smoother and softer and Stiles shivered without even meaning to. He could barely wrap his head around it. Derek looked human. No fangs, claws, fur or heavy jaw and brow. His features were still pretty sharp and angular, sure, but they were leaner – and not to forget absolutely gorgeous. Stiles had a hard time processing it all.

Derek looked pretty disbelieving too and for the first time since they got to know each other Stiles understood just how much of Derek's facial expressions he hadn't been able to see thanks to the werewolf transformation. Derek's eyebrows were raised, his eyes wide and lips slightly parted. There were so many small nuances Stiles' hadn't even been aware of before and by God all of them were amazing. He wondered absently what Derek's stubble – bordering on a beard really – would feel like if he touched it. Perhaps Derek would let him pet it.

Stiles jumped in fright when his door suddenly opened and he flailed pathetically before he realized that it was only Lydia. Who stopped in the doorway, staring. At Derek.

Which was quite understandable really and it took a brief second for Stiles to remember that it probably wasn't due to the werewolf thing – Derek looked human now and his wounds had healed as promised – but the fact that he was sitting there in all his irresistible shirtless glory with the sheets pooled around his waist. Derek could be naked for all Lydia knew. Although he wasn't, which _Stiles_ knew, but saying so would probably only make the situation worse. Besides, Stiles was obviously wearing a t-shirt so perhaps she wouldn't assume that they had been doing what she had always thought that they were doing.

Her pleased, lewd smile dashed all of Stiles' hopes of that.

"You must be Derek. Nice to finally meet you," Lydia said, voice chipper and almost disgustingly pleasant. At least she didn't step up to shake Derek's hand or something. "I'm Lydia."

Derek looked momentarily terrified. Well, it was brief enough that Lydia probably missed it but Stiles definitely saw it. Derek wasn't used to dealing with people and least of all steamrollers like Lydia. He hadn't even gotten a heads up and Stiles understood his panic. Still, Derek cleared his throat soon enough and gave her a quick, sharp nod.

"Nice to meet you too."

Stiles smiled and sneaked his hand up onto the bed, squeezing Derek's in reassurance. It felt strange to be able to close his fingers around Derek's without having to worry about claws.

"I just heard a noise and wanted to make sure that Stiles hadn't brained himself on something," Lydia explained with a slight shrug. Stiles gave her a withering, insulted glare but it had no effect on her whatsoever. "So do you guys want breakfast? Scott and Allison won't arrive for another two hours so there's-"

"Shit!" Stiles had completely forgotten about Scott and Allison. And Peter. It all came rushing back, leaving him feeling out of his depth and slightly nauseous.

"Don't worry, Stiles, I can pick them up on my own. You can stay with Derek if you want to." Lydia apparently took Stiles' frantic look as something related to Scott and Allison when he was actually panicked about whether or not he would even live to see the next day.

But Lydia didn't know that and he couldn't tell her. So he forced himself to smile – completely ignoring the worried look on Derek's face.

"Thanks. And breakfast would be nice. Could you-... ah... give us a minute?"

Lydia's meaningful smile was more perverted than Stiles was strictly comfortable with.

"Sure, Stiles. Anything you want."

That wasn't entirely true – there was a lot she would refuse to do for him – but she did seem disturbingly delighted to find Derek in Stiles' bed. As if it was proof of something she had known all along. She gave Derek a smile, Stiles a leer and mouthed 'details later' before she turned and left.

A heavy silence lingered in Stiles' room.

"Wow." Stiles breathed out slowly. "I'm not even sure what to process first..."

Derek didn't reply, not with words anyway, but his answer seemed to be for Stiles to get up from the floor, judging on how he tugged on Stiles' hand. Stiles complied and climbed up onto the bed again, a little surprised to find himself bundled up in Derek's arms.

"Your heart is beating too fast," Derek stated as some sort of explanation. Stiles still wasn't quite used to Derek's softer voice but it wasn't bad. Just different.

Stiles sighed and looked down at the ugly bruise on his wrist, left from Peter's tight grip the night before. His arm still ached dully but it was probably something that would pass within a day or so. He had been lucky to get away without broken bones. Derek carefully brushed his thumb against the bruised skin, as if he wanted to be able to rub the discoloration off of it.

"I'm just-... what am I supposed to do? It's pretty obvious that Peter wants to get me out of the way and all of my friends might get caught up in that, but I can't exactly tell them to go home without also explaining why, but I _can't_ explain why because it involves fucking werewolves!"

Stiles could feel Derek stiffen and he hastily twisted around until he could look Derek in the eyes. It was strange to see a completely different face on a person he knew so well. Stiles honestly didn't care that it happened to be a prettier one – it still confused him and it would take a while for him to get used to it.

"No, no, not like that," he quickly amended, "I just mean that they probably won't believe me. I don't-... I'm okay with you being a werewolf, Derek. I wouldn't try to eat your face if I wasn't."

Derek was silent for a brief second before his lips quirked, just a little, but it was still more of a smile than anything Stiles had ever seen Derek manage. It was breathtaking.

"Do that again." Stiles wasn't even surprised to hear the awe in his own voice.

Derek blinked, his smile fading.

"Do what?"

"Smile."

Stiles turned fully until he was straddling Derek's legs and carefully placed his hands on Derek's bare shoulders. His fingertips brushed against Derek's throat, then his jaw. It felt strange without the fur even if there was still stubble there. Derek was looking up at him, his expression confused and a little awkward, as if smiling wasn't something he could do under pressure.

Stiles couldn't help leaning in for a kiss. That too was completely different. The feel of Derek's lips without the complications offered by his canines and jaw almost had Stiles deepening it. He could already imagine what it would be like to just pour all of himself into kissing Derek – the delicious burn, the thrilling depth and the utter perfection.

When Stiles eased back again Derek was smiling, if a bit tentatively. It still struck Stiles like a sledgehammer. Derek's smile was gorgeous. Stiles traced the outline of Derek's lips with his fingertip and responded with a smile of his own.

"Yeah. I think I can get used to this face too. Even if it's not as dashing as your other one."

Derek's smile grew stronger and Stiles lost himself completely. The kiss that followed was bordering on violent, Stiles holding on to Derek like a drowning man would cling to his last breath of air. Derek seemed taken aback at first until he caught up with the program.

Strong, warm hands slipped under Stiles' t-shirt, sliding along his back and causing him to moan indecently against Derek's lips. It was much easier kissing Derek without the fangs and Derek was certainly getting more into it, pulling Stiles closer and responding with a hunger that made Stiles feel dizzy.

Stiles gasped, followed by a whine when Derek nipped at his bottom lip. That was definitely one of the hottest things Stiles had ever experienced – an opinion that got hastily reevaluated when one of Derek's hands gripped Stiles' hair and pulled his head backwards, baring his throat. Stiles' breath hitched at the first contact of Derek's lips against his skin but instead of fear Stiles felt a sharp, aching burn flare in his gut. Shit, that felt good.

Derek kissed, licked and bit softly along the expanse of Stiles' neck, causing all kinds of unholy noises to slip out of Stiles. Derek's teeth remained human – not that Stiles would have cared – but it seemed to make Derek more confident. Bolder. Blunt, human nails trailed down Stiles' back, eliciting a shameless moan that Stiles realized was bordering on too loud when he remembered that Lydia was just a couple of rooms away, preparing their breakfast.

It wasn't quite like getting a bucket of water dumped over his head but it sure put a damper on his eagerness to get naked. She'd probably come barging in uninvited when she was done with the preparations, as punishment for leaving her to do all of it on her own.

Stiles bit his lip and forced himself not to roll his hips and seek out more of Derek's warmth. But it felt so incredibly good. Derek was so solid and secure, his skin smooth under Stiles' hands, and the whisper of his lips against Stiles' throat was nothing short of heavenly.

But Stiles still didn't want to be caught in a compromising situation by Lydia, mainly because she would never let him live it down.

"Derek-... God, I wish I didn't have to, but... breakfast," Stiles murmured between gasps, "remember breakfast? We should probably-"

Stiles cut himself off, shuddering helplessly when Derek breathed against his ear, running his lips along the shell in one the single most torturously slow methods of distraction Stiles had ever been the target of.

"Okay, fuck breakfast," Stiles said in a rushing exhale before he pushed a deviously grinning Derek down onto his back, following suit with a searing kiss within seconds. Derek's hands settled on Stiles' hips, hot and heavy like brands, and Stiles grinned impishly. "Or better yet – fuck me."

Stiles wasn't the least bit surprised when he felt the grip on his hips tighten, but he did flinch when it pricked harder than it should have, even through the fabric of his sleeping shorts. A second later the pressure was gone when Derek snatched his hands back and wrenched his head to the side, away from Stiles and their kiss.

Stiles blinked in surprise. Derek's breathing was labored and uneven, his shoulders tense, and Stiles caught a glimpse of a bright blue shimmer before Derek had time to fully close his eyes. Stiles grabbed Derek's hand without looking, his suspicion confirmed when he could feel the hints of Derek's claws.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," he whispered soothingly, leaning down to kiss Derek's temple. Getting Derek excited apparently had some side effects. "It's okay, Derek. You know I don't mind."

But Stiles understood that it still meant that they had to stop. It was too risky when they didn't know why Derek was suddenly able to change back and forth, not to mention that they had no idea whether it was permanent or not. It was better to stop than to experience unpleasant surprises.

Derek didn't transform fully, mostly because he seemed to be struggling against it, but Stiles could still see the ripple of the wolf under the surface. It was both fascinating and creepy. Derek remained mostly human though and eventually Stiles felt the claws retract.

It took a moment before Derek opened his eyes and when he did he looked frustrated rather than apologetic, which was actually preferred. Stiles didn't want Derek to feel guilty about almost changing.

"I usually have better control..." Derek grumbled and Stiles couldn't help smiling, kissing the tip of Derek's nose.

"Perhaps you're out of practice?" It seemed reasonable considering how long Derek must have spent in his transformed state, without being able to or needing to hold it back. "Or maybe I'm just that damned good?"

Derek scoffed, a gentle rush of air against Stiles' cheek.

"You wish."

Stiles grinned, trailing his lips along Derek's temple down to his cheekbone.

"I'll have you know that challenging me is a very bad thing. I'm known for being stubborn."

"Obstinate, more likely."

Stiles pulled back and slapped Derek's bicep. It probably barely even registered but it made Stiles feel slightly better.

"Hey! Be nice!"

Derek smiled softly, one of his hands reaching up to brush against Stiles' chin. Stiles caught it, kissing Derek's knuckles just because he could.

"The change-..." Derek trailed off but Stiles could see that it was only because he was trying to find the words so he waited patiently for Derek to continue. He didn't mind, straddling Derek's middle as he was. Derek took a deep breath. "Peter did it. I don't know what but... something. My anchor used to be anger. It kept me focused. Driven. But he did something, as punishment for not helping him, and I couldn't anymore. I could feel anger but it didn't help. I couldn't curb it or control it. Not anymore. I couldn't change back."

Stiles remained silent, squeezing Derek's fingers to show that he was still listening. Derek's eyes were mesmerizingly bright in the pale sunlight that streamed in through the window, looking otherworldly even without the werewolf-glow.

"But I couldn't find a new anchor either... I wasn't even sure if that would work. So I just remained the way I was. Until..."

Stiles smiled.

"Until you finally found one."

More didn't need to be said. That was why Peter had decided to get Stiles out of the way. That was why he had sounded so displeased when the depth of Derek's relationship to Stiles had been revealed – it broke whatever spell that kept Derek from returning back to his human form.

Derek's expression was a complicated mix of emotions – gratefulness, affection, fear, regret and just an ounce of hope – and Stiles didn't struggle when Derek framed his face with his hands, pulling him downwards.

The first kiss was pressed against Stiles' cheek, the second his forehead and the third his lips. The reverence – the utter worship that Derek's touch seemed to convey – left a lump in Stiles' throat and an ache in his chest. A good ache of course, but an ache none the less.

Derek let out a slow, careful breath against Stiles' lips and the sincerity in his voice was almost too much to handle.

"No, until _you_ finally found _me_."

Stiles swallowed thickly but couldn't think of anything to say – no words to match what Derek had just given him. Instead he conveyed it as best he could through the touch of his lips against Derek's, sweet, trembling and oh so vulnerable.

Derek responded in kind.

Breakfast with Lydia was exactly as awkward as Stiles had feared. Not that Lydia thought so but it was obvious that Derek was uncomfortable. He still hadn't said exactly how long he had remained transformed but Stiles was willing to bet on years – probably since Laura had died – and it showed.

Stiles had been far too caught up in the moment to notice before but when they sat at on the high bar stools eating breakfast it wasn't difficult to spot if you knew what to look for. Derek gripped everything without using the uttermost part of his fingertips for an example, since he was used to having claws. They weren't there now of course but it was a habit that seemed hard to break.

Derek still adapted admirably quickly though and Stiles couldn't help smiling at him like a complete dork. A part of him had feared that Derek would hunch and shy away from Lydia but he had apparently not given Derek's sense of pride enough credit. If Stiles hadn't known him so well he would have thought that Derek was completely calm where he sat, his back straight and eyes keen. But that was the thing too – Derek was clearly at attention. As if he was waiting for an attack of some sort.

He looked positively adorable though, wearing a pair of Stiles' sweatpants and the biggest t-shirt they had been able to find, which just happened to be one with the Batman logo on it. Derek's own clothes were either ripped or stained with blood and Lydia would no doubt have frowned at that. Stiles had to fight a constant urge to reach out and ruffle Derek's sleep mussed hair.

It didn't take long before Lydia's knowing smirks got on Stiles' nerves and he had no qualms about kicking her shin when she tried to interrogate Derek on everything she apparently found important. Like how old he was, where he lived and if his intentions were pure. She gave Stiles a scathing look but the way Derek gratefully clutched his hand under the table made Stiles feel practically immune against her ire.

By some kind of miracle they survived breakfast and Stiles promised to handle the clearing of the table and dishes while Lydia went to meet Scott and Allison at the train station. The moment she was out the door Stiles pulled Derek in for a hug and whispered just how proud he was over how Derek had handled the entire situation. Stiles knew that Derek wanted nothing more than to bolt.

Derek wasn't used to socializing and even if Stiles had gotten through his defenses it was still a little risky to introduce other people, especially when Derek didn't get a chance to say no. Which was why Stiles pulled back and made sure to catch Derek's gaze.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to. Scott and Allison are nicer than Lydia but I know it can't be easy for you. It'll probably get pretty noisy around here."

Derek seemed to consider this – Stiles could see the flicker of various emotions passing over his face – before he shook his head.

"I'll stay."

Stiles narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"You're afraid that Peter will come back, aren't you?" Because Derek surely wouldn't have opted to stay otherwise. Stiles didn't blame him – he actually felt safer knowing that Derek would be there with him – but he didn't want Derek to lie about it either.

Derek hesitated, all of it shown so much clearer on his face now, and sighed softly.

"Yes."

"That's okay," Stiles assured, giving Derek a chaste kiss, "but I can't promise that you won't be overwhelmed."

A part of Stiles wondered just what Scott and Allison would think of Derek, but forced himself not to ponder on it too much. He would only make himself anxious. He really wanted them to like Derek though. He wasn't sure if they could define themselves as _together_ together yet but Stiles had every intention of keeping Derek around – especially now when they weren't as hindered by Derek's appearance – and it would really suck if his friends didn't like him.

But Lydia seemed to be okay with it and she was the pickiest of the bunch. Well, besides Stiles' dad, but he was so not going to worry about that until it was strictly necessary. Because that was bound to give him nightmares. His dad could be terrifyingly protective when he wanted to and Derek – no matter if he was human or wolfed out – had a rugged kind of appearance with dangerous undertones that someone working as a sheriff would probably find slightly unnerving.

But it was an issue for later.

Once it had been decided that Derek was going to stay they tidied away the remains of their breakfast together and Stiles couldn't help bumping into Derek with a playful grin or sneaking a kiss every now and then. It felt so domestic and comfortable and he never wanted it to end. Derek didn't seem to mind and he relaxed more and more the longer he went without shifting back to his werewolf shape. Stiles didn't know if it was something he actively had to fight against but Derek looked calm and at ease. That was all he cared about.

Stiles had several questions that he would have liked to ask but decided that he didn't want to pressure Derek too much. But a part of him couldn't help fantasizing about being able to bring Derek home for Christmas. It would solve the issue of them not wanting to be apart _and_ Stiles' reluctance to leave Derek alone for the holidays.

But that was a much bigger commitment than either of them were ready for just hours after it having been made possible, considering that it essentially involved introducing Derek to Stiles' dad. They probably needed some more time to process that.

Once the kitchen was spotless – because Stiles knew that Lydia wouldn't settle for anything less – they curled up together on the couch. It was mostly Stiles' doing because he wanted to poke and prod at Derek's hands and stare at his face. It was all so different now.

"Does it feel strange?" he asked, head tilted to the side as he inspected the tips of Derek's fingers. It was odd to see human nails. Stiles felt Derek's shrug and looked up to meet his gaze. "It feels strange to me and I've only known you for two months."

The slight quirk of Derek's lips could probably qualify as a smile.

"A little. I had gotten used to it, I guess." Derek's voice was soft, almost gentle. "But both are a part of me and always will be. I don't favor either of them."

His fingers closed around Stiles', nails slowly growing into claws. The change was gradual yet precise somehow and Stiles couldn't help staring in fascination. There was a certain beauty to it.

"The hard part is keeping it in check. I had almost forgotten what that was like."

Stiles heard the slight apprehension in Derek's voice and he instinctively cuddled closer, nudging his nose against the underside of Derek's chin.

"You're afraid that you'll get stuck? In either form?"

Derek waited a moment before he shook his head. He then proceeded to wrap his arms around Stiles, his hands blunt and human again. Derek pulled Stiles close and burrowed his nose in Stiles' hair.

"Not anymore," he mumbled, fondness creeping into his voice. Stiles could only blush, grin like a complete loon and revel in the closeness.

And that was how they stayed for several wonderful moments until Derek stiffened marginally and reported that Lydia, Scott and Allison were arriving. Stiles sighed and made a lazy attempt to extricate himself from Derek's embrace but it was made difficult by how neither of them seemed particularly interested in separating just yet. Still, Stiles knew that at least Scott would demand a hug and Derek probably wouldn't appreciate being pulled in as a hanger-on.

So after giving Derek a long, thorough kiss Stiles rose from the couch, just in time to hear the front door open. Stiles had about three seconds to brace himself before he suddenly had an armful of Scott clinging to him like an overexcited puppy. Stiles laughed and hugged back, reveling in the familiarity of it all. Man, he had really missed Scott.

"I haven't seen you in ages!" Scott exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear when he pulled back enough to ruffle Stiles' hair while simultaneously dodging Stiles' attempt to give him a nuggie. It would probably have deteriorated into a primitive wrestling match if Scott hadn't hesitated at the sight of Derek. He didn't look surprised though, just sheepish.

"Oh, hi. Lydia said Stiles had someone over." Scott dove under Stiles' arm and marched right up to Derek with his hand outstretched for a shake. "I'm Scott."

Stiles didn't know whether to adore Scott for his friendly greeting or fear how Derek would react to it. Something must have shown on his face because Derek hastily glanced in Stiles' direction before he offered Scott a slight smile.

"I'm Derek." His tone was a little forced and the handshake somewhat stiff but still impressive for someone who hadn't spoken to people for a couple of years. It could hopefully be mistaken for nerves.

Scott seemed to take it as such – if he even noticed at all – and grinned widely. If he recognized the t-shirt Derek was wearing as Stiles' he did a wonderful job of not showing it.

"You're going to stick around, right? A friend of Stiles' is a friend of mine."

Only Scott could say something as corny as that and still sound one hundred percent sincere. Stiles decided to save Derek from the awkwardness of having to answer.

"Yeah, Derek wouldn't last a day without me." Stiles grinned, completely ignoring Derek's piercing glare and raised eyebrow. He inched closer to Derek's side but didn't quite know if taking his hand would be a good idea or not. He wanted to but was afraid of the blatant sign that would be to the others. Not that Stiles minded, he just wasn't certain if Derek would.

"I see you boys are getting acquainted," Lydia said as she and Allison joined them in the living room.

Stiles would have missed it if he hadn't been so attuned to Derek's every movement, but he could have sworn that Derek stiffened for some reason. Stiles gave him a worried look but Derek was staring at Allison. And not in a subtle way either. Derek was outright staring. Stiles felt a sharp sting of dread but for what reason he couldn't say.

Lydia carried on as usual, heedless of the expression on Derek's face. Or Allison's for that matter, who had noticed the unsettling attention she was getting and twisted a little awkwardly.

"Scott McCall, as I'm sure he has announced already, and this is Allison Argent. We-"

If anyone asked Stiles wouldn't be able to say who moved first. All he knew was that one moment everything was fine and the next all hell broke loose.

Something must have shown – a flash of Derek's blue eyes or a hint of sharp teeth – because Allison's eyes widened in shock before her expression hardened into one Stiles had never seen before. It looked vaguely terrifying.

The funny thing was that both Derek and Allison lunged for Stiles, but Derek stood closer and had the advantage of superhuman reflexes. So Stiles found himself forcibly dragged out of Allison's reach – feeling disoriented and more than a little confused – while a dagger appeared in Allison's hand literally out of nowhere. She took a stance that clearly showed that she was ready to fight if it came to that.

Stiles stared, Scott looked like his girlfriend had suddenly revealed herself to be Xena the Warrior Princess – which might actually be the case judging on the ease with which she flipped that dagger of hers – and Lydia seemed stunned into silence for the first time in years.

Derek's growl was barely audible as he pushed Stiles behind himself, shielding him from Allison.

"Stiles! Get away from him!" Allison practically commanded, her voice laced with concern and an alarming sort of ruthlessness that made Stiles' stomach churn.

"What? No, let me explain-" Stiles tried futilely, struggling against Derek who still tried to keep him as far away from Allison as possible.

"Dude, what's wrong with his eyes?"

Scott – poor, innocent little Scott – sounded so confused and Stiles didn't know whether to curse or cry. This wasn't supposed to happen this way. One day he would have wanted to tell his friends about Derek, but not like this.

"Stiles! You don't understand, he's not what you think!" Allison continued, ignoring Scott's stunned question. Stiles blinked.

"Wait. How do _you_ know what he is?"

Allison knew about werewolves? That would explain the dagger, which would otherwise have been a rather over the top reaction to someone getting hostile. A heavy silence settled over the room for a second.

" _You_ know?" Allison countered, sounding surprised and a little accusing.

It wasn't difficult for Stiles to peek at her from over Derek's shoulder – he might be broader but they were of similar height. Stiles found her gaze and held it. There was an alarming look of hate and disgust in her eyes but Stiles was pretty certain that it was directed at Derek, not him. But that was bad enough.

"Yeah. I've known for as long as I've known him." Stiles was surprised by how firm his own voice was and he didn't hesitate when it came to placing a calming hand on Derek's shoulder, easing him back an inch. This was a far too eventful morning to pile on top of all the shit with Peter and Stiles could practically feel Derek's nerves wearing thin. He had been tense enough as it was.

And it wasn't like Derek wanted to attack. Stiles recognized his defensive posture when he saw it and this was apparently a matter of protecting Stiles, not harming anyone else.

"Stiles, you really can't trust-"

"She's a hunter," Derek suddenly growled, the sound vibrating low in his throat. Stiles pressed himself against Derek's back, trying to offer some kind of stability or reassurance. Stiles knew how much Derek hated hunters.

"ENOUGH!"

Everyone but Derek jumped at Lydia's sudden shout, her expression nothing short of thunderous. She glared at Stiles, then Allison.

"I have no idea what's going on and you two better stop talking in riddles. And you-" she pointed at Derek "-I don't know what your intentions are but if you hurt Stiles I swear to God that I will make you wish that you had never been born, do you hear me?"

Stiles swallowed.

"He won't, Lydia. I promise you, he won't." Stiles carefully slipped out from behind Derek, even if he still remained close, practically pressed against Derek's side. It obviously took every ounce of Derek's willpower not to pull Stiles back to what he probably considered to be safety. Stiles gave him a trembling smile and laced their fingers together.

Allison looked wary – possibly even ready to attack – but Stiles focused on Derek and trying to keep him calm. This was so not how this meeting was supposed to go.

"Now, tell me what the heck is going on here," Lydia demanded, her tone booking no argument. Stiles knew that he wouldn't be able to squirm out of this one, not after the show Derek and Allison had put up.

Scott looked like a confused, lost little puppy.

Stiles cleared his throat even if it did nothing to chase away the choking feeling of dread. Lydia's eyes were cold and hard when he met her gaze but Stiles forced himself not to let that deter him.

"You-... you should probably sit down."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am totally enjoying how kinda sorta anticlimactic Derek's change back to his human form was xD  
> More mush (because I can't get enough of it apparently and you can't tell me that it wasn't adorable) aaaaand then some complications. The end is drawing closer - just three chapters left of the main story - so there'll be less cuteness and more plot/action from now on. Hopefully you won't mind ;)
> 
> It was also incredibly strange to go back to re-reading this after having spent a week pouring through The Losers-fanfics. I felt so confused and it took me a while before I got a handle on the characters again xD (I blame this on you, Cougars_Catnip)
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) is my lovely beta who deserves all the love. I'm pretty sure she enjoyed being my beta for this one simply because she got to read the chapters before everyone else xD She loves this story.  
> 


	10. The Plan

 

* * *

 

All things considered Lydia and Scott took the news pretty well. It required a lot of explaining from Stiles and several clarifications from Allison – she seemed to have a slightly better grasp of it than Stiles, who could only rely on the few tidbits Derek had revealed – but eventually they were caught up to speed on the whole werewolf issue. Or, well, at least the basics.

Lydia seemed critical until Stiles politely asked Derek to demonstrate for them. Derek did so reluctantly and probably only because Stiles was right next to him and they were seated as far from Allison as they possibly could be. Because Allison didn't look pleased at all. She had even tried to object when Stiles made to sit with Derek instead of with Scott, Lydia and Allison on the couch but Stiles had completely ignored her. Derek needed him more than they did.

After the first time Scott kept asking Derek to demonstrate parts of the shift until Stiles eventually told him to piss off, since Scott was obviously doing it not because he doubted the existence of werewolves but because he thought it was cool. And Derek wasn't some freak Scott could stare at for kicks. When Stiles said as much Scott had the decency to look horrified, followed by a torrent of stumbling apologies. Derek didn't respond.

Derek was unsettlingly quiet as a matter of fact – even more so than usual. He apparently listened to what was being said but didn't contribute in any way. Stiles assumed that it had to do with Allison because Derek wasn't quite able to look away from her, even if he wasn't necessarily hostile. He looked wary if anything, as if he was afraid that _she_ would do something to _him_.

Stiles offered what little comfort he could by sitting pressed against Derek's side and maintaining a firm grip on Derek's hand. But everyone could tell that Derek was tense. Lydia kept eyeing him as if she expected Derek to explode at any given second – all the cheerfulness from the morning replaced with suspicion. Stiles hated it. He hated how they judged Derek without knowing him.

Sure, Derek had claws and fangs when he was wolfed out but he'd done nothing that could indicate that he would harm either of them. Derek wouldn't do that.

"So what is a hunter?" Lydia asked, voice crisp and firm as always, but there was a terse hint to it. She didn't like the situation one bit, probably because she was for once in the dark about something.

"They're trained specifically to hunt and kill werewolves," Stiles explained, resolutely not looking at Allison. He still wasn't quite sure how to handle that she was apparently one of them. Stiles had prepared himself to hate them all but he couldn't hate Allison.

"Dangerous werewolves," Allison interjected, "those who have killed humans."

Her tone was defensive and Stiles swallowed, glancing in her direction. He didn't want to offend her but he was partial. He wasn't going to deny that.

"And you're a hunter?" Scott asked, sounding so lost and confused that both Stiles and Allison gave him a slightly pitying look.

"My family has been hunters for generations but it wasn't until my aunt died that they explained it to me. She was murdered by a werewolf and they thought that it would be safer if I knew."

Stiles remembered, even if they had been told that it was a car accident at the time. It had been in senior year, just before the Christmas holidays. Allison had been inconsolable, to the point where not even Scott had managed to cheer her up. But there had also been a hard look in her eyes during those months, which on one hand could have been explained as grief but Stiles now suspected was related to what she had been told about her family heritage.

"Kate is dead?"

All gazes snapped to Derek, who looked as shocked as the rest of them. It was the first thing Derek had said since they sat down and it was definitely not what anyone had expected.

"You knew my aunt?" Allison's voice was sharp, both from surprise and suspicion.

Derek's jaws clenched, his lips pressed together into a thin line. Stiles easily recognized it as the expression Derek made when he had no intention of answering or being forthcoming. Stiles didn't know what to think but his head was spinning with unanswered questions. How small did the world have to be for Derek to know Allison's aunt? But how else could one explain that Derek knew her name? Stiles sure hadn't mentioned it.

"How did you know Kate?" Allison persisted, sounding more hostile by the second. Scott placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

"Allison, take it-"

"No, Scott! You don't understand. She was murdered by a werewolf but we never found out who and then suddenly up pops one that knows her!"

"Derek didn't kill her," Stiles blurted out without thinking, fearlessly meeting Allison's gaze when she glared at him. Stiles couldn't technically know that – Kate died long before he met Derek – but he was willing to bet that Derek hadn't ventured that far with his wolfed out face, because as far as Stiles remembered Kate had died several states away.

"You can't know that, Stiles. How else would he know her?" Allison practically accused, pointing at Derek, heedless of Scott's attempts to calm her down.

"She burned my family alive."

The silence that followed was deafening. Stiles felt a sickening roll of nausea, spreading like a cold wave through his body. He turned to look at Derek but there wasn't a single hint of a lie on his face. Just a stoic, calm sort of acceptance that hurt more than Stiles thought possible.

Allison faltered noticeably, swallowing quickly, and when she continued she sounded less sure of herself.

"My dad mentioned something about... a fire. He thought that her murder could be connected to it because the werewolves always blamed us for it, but-"

"Kate did it." Derek's tone was flat but still oddly harsh. Stiles squeezed his hand and Derek squeezed back, seemingly out of reflex.

"My dad-"

"Wasn't there. Chris Argent has no idea what happened. He didn't even live in the same city at the time." Something seemed to have cracked inside Derek. He was talking, gaze fixed on Allison, but at the same time he seemed hundreds of miles away. "She, along with some accomplices, trapped eleven people inside our house and set it on fire. There were humans and children in there."

Allison stared down at her tightly clasped hands. Stiles was a little surprised that she didn't deny it further but perhaps she could see what everyone else did – Derek had no reason to lie. And there was something in his voice that spoke of unimaginable pain.

And Stiles believed him. Derek had said that hunters had killed his family and while Stiles didn't want to soil Allison's memory of her aunt he had no reason to doubt Derek's sincerity. Derek had never lied to him, except perhaps in the beginning when he said that he didn't want Stiles to come over again. Stiles trusted Derek, even if the situation was beyond twisted.

Besides, Stiles was absolutely certain that Derek was innocent. Derek hadn't killed Allison's aunt. It wasn't just that Stiles was incredibly partial and willing to defend Derek to the bitter end, but his instincts told him that there was another explanation – one that made a lot more sense given the circumstances.

"Derek didn't kill Kate, Allison." Stiles kept his voice low and careful, not wanting to come off as disrespectful. "But I think I know who did."

Allison looked up and Stiles could feel Derek's gaze, questioning and probably a tad bit surprised as well. Stiles squeezed Derek's hand but his voice trembled slightly when he continued.

"Derek has an uncle." Stiles could feel Derek stiffen beside him. "He's an alpha. He survived the fire and spent years in a coma but when he eventually recovered he wanted revenge. Derek hasn't left town, but Peter has. He could have sought her out, if he believed that she was responsible for the fire."

Granted that Derek had only mentioned that Peter had left town recently, but that didn't mean that he hadn't done it earlier too, back when Stiles, Scott, Allison and Lydia were all back in Beacon Hills and knew nothing of the Hales or hunters.

Allison took a deep breath and Stiles could only imagine what she felt. He knew how much Allison loved Kate – how she had considered her to be more like a sister than an aunt – and now someone was telling her that Kate had done unspeakable things to innocent people. And that those very actions might be what got her killed. It had to be difficult to swallow. Allison handled it admirably well.

"I can't guarantee that it was Peter, but I know for a fact that it wasn't Derek. Please trust me, Allison. I know Derek and I know that he wouldn't do that."

Stiles could tell that Derek was staring at him but Stiles focused on Allison, who licked her lips and subtly wiped her eyes while nodding. Scott looked pained but leaned in and kissed her temple, which at least made her give a trembling smile in return.

Stiles really didn't want Allison to be unhappy but he wasn't going to sit by and let them blame Derek for things he didn't do. Stiles had almost done that himself and still felt guilty at the mere thought of how wrong he had been.

Not to mention that they had other things to worry about. Stiles cleared his throat.

"There's... um... more."

Lydia raised an eyebrow – one that seemed to say that Stiles was in so much trouble for not having told her all of this sooner – and Stiles inched a little closer to Derek, who immediately responded by wrapping an arm protectively around Stiles.

"You three should head back to Beacon Hills as soon as possible." His friends' expressions varied but most of all they seemed to convey confusion. "The thing is that this Peter is-... not what you would call a nice guy and he's sort of intent on making Derek's life a living hell. And that includes, well..."

"Getting rid of you. And you want us to leave so that we won't get caught up in it," Lydia filled in, her arms crossed over her chest and lips pursed. Stiles nodded mutely but was ready to argue his point if necessary.

Scott looked horrified but Allison was the first to speak up even if she did so in a somewhat mocking fashion.

"Hello, trained werewolf hunter here. Why would I leave?"

She had a point. A good point even. Stiles shut his mouth with a clack.

Lydia rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Okay, I can admit that I'm still not okay with all of this and if it wasn't for the irrefutable proof I would have called you all nuts." Lydia glared at Stiles, Derek and Allison, one after the other. "But if you're telling me that someone is somehow in danger and that someone happens to be you, Stiles, do you seriously think that I would leave? You think I'm that bad of a friend?"

The accusation in her voice was obvious and Stiles twisted a little in his seat.

"No, of course I don't, I just thought that-"

"As far as I'm concerned it seems that we're all staying, to keep you two from doing something foolish," Lydia snapped, interrupting Stiles without mercy. She straightened her back, placed her clasped hands on her knees and looked every bit the confident, brilliant genius that she was. "Now, tell us the entire story, from the beginning, and we'll figure out what to do about this Peter character."

Stiles glanced at Derek, silently asking for permission. There was a lot in that story that was private, after all, but Stiles couldn't deny that telling them would probably be the best course of action. He really didn't want to drag them into it but their options were limited and he knew for a fact that Lydia and Allison would be able to offer several observations and suggestions that Stiles and Derek wouldn't think of.

Not to mention that Scott looked about ready to chain himself to Stiles if he had to, to prevent getting sent away. Trust Scott to be heroic and loyal even in the face of almost certain death. Stiles wanted to smile at Scott's devotion but decided against it since Derek was a bigger priority. It's was his choice whether to tell the others about Peter or not.

Derek hesitated – that much was obvious – but he gave a sharp, quick nod after a couple of seconds. He didn't seem particularly happy, probably because he had never liked involving other people in his personal business, but they had little choice. Something had to be done about Peter and this could mean a breakthrough, if nothing else because they got more hands on deck.

Lydia looked pleased but serious when Stiles turned more fully towards her, took a deep breath and started explaining.

While Stiles didn't tell them _exactly_ everything – he avoided the uncomfortable bits if possible, as well as his own panic attack and certain aspects of his and Derek's relationship – but once he was finished everything Peter had done was out in the open. Lydia looked positively livid now that she knew that the creep at the café wasn't just a random freak but someone who actually wanted to cause Stiles real harm.

Derek continued with his habit of remaining mostly silent and Stiles couldn't exactly blame him. Stiles was telling complete strangers about how Peter had treated Derek – his inability to change back to his human form and that he, as a result, had been forced to live in the decaying remains of the house where his family had been burned alive. Not even Lydia could look mad at Derek after that even if it was obvious that she was appalled by the thought of Stiles having been there to visit so often.

Once it had been established that Peter was the enemy and that neither of them were leaving Allison and Stiles started drawing up battle plans and suggestions for tactics. It was obvious that Allison had more experience but Stiles was insightful and observant enough to offer valuable input.

Still, it was difficult to think of anything that could guarantee their victory. Allison could list several tactics to take down a werewolf but alphas were more difficult – stronger, faster and more ruthless. And they were just four humans and one beta werewolf, without any real weapons to speak of. They didn't even have Lydia's Taser – which she naturally tried to find – and Stiles had to admit, a little awkwardly, that Derek had broken it ages ago when Stiles borrowed it.

Allison called her dad for advice and after having spent several minutes selectively explaining the situation Mr. Argent's reply was not to do anything until he and some of his associates arrived to help. Stiles wasn't sure if they would be that lucky. They would definitely try but if push came to shove they had to have a plan. Mr. Argent seemed to understand as much and while he promised that he and some other hunters would arrive the next day he gave his blessing for them to prepare as well as they could in the meantime.

It was Lydia who suggested the self-igniting Molotov cocktails. Stiles was immediately against it when he felt Derek go unnaturally still beside him but after some deliberation and arguing Stiles couldn't exactly come up with any better ideas himself. Fire was efficient not only as a weapon but a way to scare and distract. No one was calm when on fire.

But it wasn't until Derek leaned closer and whispered in Stiles' ear that he'd manage that Stiles agreed. And then only reluctantly. He didn't want to submit Derek to any kind of fires, especially not when he was quite literally going to be in the crossfire. Allison assured them that she could find a suitable weapon for herself on pretty short notice when the stores opened on Monday morning but it was still obvious that Derek would have to do most of the hard work. He was the only one who could withstand the kind of beating they could expect from an alpha werewolf.

Their plan wasn't as much a plan as it was a vague strategy on how to take Peter down. And even then Stiles wasn't sure if their intentions were to kill or just incapacitate him. They never said so out loud and Stiles couldn't help feeling a little nauseous at the thought of them sitting there possibly plotting murder. Because that was what it essentially was, if Peter ended up dead.

But he didn't know what else to do. Peter didn't seem to be interested in reasoning – Stiles had realized that much during their short meeting – but he was intent on hurting Derek and Stiles as much as possible. Stiles couldn't allow that.

He smiled weakly at Derek when he squeezed Stiles' hand, both for reassurance and support. It was sweet and made Stiles feel a little better, but not by much. He wished neither of them had to go through this.

Lydia set to work almost immediately, no doubt wanting to be as prepared as possible. She and Allison went to procure what they needed for the Molotov cocktails from the college chemistry department and Stiles had no intention of asking how they managed that. The school building and campus might be accessible even on Sundays but the chemicals were another story. They were supposed to be behind lock and key, but it didn't take the girls more than forty minutes to get them.

In secret Stiles was a little relieved that it didn't take longer than that because being alone in the apartment with Derek and Scott was somehow even more awkward than having Lydia and Allison there as well. Probably because Scott was a friendly, eager puppy as always and Derek seemed to loath anything that wasn't Stiles.

It was quite hilarious to see Derek subtly – or not really subtly at all to tell the truth – hide behind Stiles from time to time, when he wanted to get away from Scott's eager questions and attempts to start a conversation. It made him seem adorably shy.

When the girls returned they wasted no time before getting started, even if Derek opted to stay back when the chemicals were being mixed. Judging on the way Derek wrinkled his nose Stiles assumed that it was because the smell disturbed him.

No one actually asked Lydia how she knew how to make self-igniting Molotov cocktails but that might be because all of them had learned by then than Lydia was nothing if not resourceful, even when her specific knowledge bordered towards terrifying. She instructed the others on how to go about it and eventually they had a small arsenal of mismatched bottles and stolen beakers gathered on their bar table – all turned into possibly lethal weapons.

Stiles sure hoped no one would come for a surprise visit because it looked like they were preparing for a war. But in a sense they might be. It made him feel uneasy. All of them were, to tell the truth.

Scott was the easiest to read since his emotions were always so clearly displayed. He looked sad, worried and uncomfortable, no doubt confused by the unfolding events and the sheer magnitude of what they were going up against. But he still stayed and helped, because that was Scott in a nutshell.

Lydia looked focused and sharp like always but Stiles saw the strain behind it – the tightness around her eyes and the hard line of her mouth. Allison was clearly troubled and glanced at Derek ever so often, even if it was obvious that she was making an effort not to be invasive or threatening. Despite whatever doubts she was having concerning Kate she still seemed able to push that aside and prioritize their current predicament. Stiles was honestly in awe of her ability to compartmentalize.

Derek was quiet and reserved but no one seemed to question it, not even Stiles. He still did his best to make sure that it wasn't a negative kind of silence, but it was hard to tell, even with Derek's new expressive face. He still knew how to look impossibly blank when he wanted to.

It was obvious that the current situation put a damper on Scott and Allison's visit but as the evening progressed they were able to look past it to a certain degree, if only because there wasn't much else they could do until Allison could stock up on weapons. The Molotov cocktails were done and they were waiting for backup.

In an attempt to pretend that all of them weren't tense and downright anxious they decided to watch a movie while they ate, but Stiles was willing to bet that if he asked neither of them would be able to say what it had been about.

Derek barely touched his food.

And while they tried to talk like usual it still felt odd and stilted, despite Scott's best efforts. A part of it was because Stiles kept half of his attention on Derek at all times but mostly it was because of what they were about to do. Neither of them seemed unaffected – not even Lydia who was usually so unshakable. The threat of attack and severity of the situation hung thick in the air and Stiles was sure that he wasn't the only one who felt that it was difficult to breathe.

It was almost a relief when it was time to go to bed, Lydia retreating to her room while Scott and Allison got settled on the fold-out couch. Stiles fled into his own room with Derek at his heels as soon as possible, wasting no time before he turned around and slid into Derek's warm, comforting embrace. The door had barely closed behind them and Derek's back thumped against it when Stiles pushed closer, burying his face against Derek's neck. He hated this. He hated dragging his friends into this mess and he hated that Derek probably felt as guilty as Stiles did. It wasn't their fault – it was Peter's.

Derek said nothing about the frankly suffocating hug and just returned it, albeit with less force. Stiles sighed, his eyes closed and body tense. It took a while before he was able to relax, slumping against Derek who was leaning against the closed door in turn.

"I hate this..." Stiles mumbled sullenly. "I hate that we're in this situation because your uncle is a maniac and I hate that you have to take responsibility for his actions. I hate all of it."

Derek apparently didn't have anything comforting to say but Stiles didn't feel particularly surprised by that. It wasn't Derek's style. What Derek did do was to hug a little tighter and nuzzle against Stiles' temple, which, in all fairness, served to lighten his mood just as well as any verbal reassurances would have. Derek was a master cuddler. Who would have thought?

Stiles smiled before clearing his throat.

"I'm sorry about, well... today. I had no idea about Allison and I know that it couldn't have been easy for you." Stiles tried not to feel annoyed by how carefully blank Derek's face was. "This wasn't how I planned for them to find out... and I guess Allison being who she is doesn't help..."

Derek still didn't reply. He just kept giving Stiles a calm, patient look that was really beginning to get on his nerves.

"Will you at least say something?" Stiles demanded, perhaps a little too sharply. "You're making me nervous."

Silence lingered for a beat until Derek shrugged softly.

"It's not her fault. I try my best to remember that."

Stiles stopped to just stare at Derek for a couple of seconds. How could anyone be so reasonable when faced with the niece of the woman who murdered practically his entire family? Stiles knew that he wouldn't have been able to. Granted that Derek didn't quite manage to be as relaxed as he strived to be – it was still admirable of him to recognize that Allison was not Kate.

"Ugh. You are too perfect," Stiles declared before placing a determined kiss on Derek's lips. He thought he heard Derek chuckle in response.

"Some would argue for the opposite," Derek pointed out once he wasn't busy with Stiles' kisses.

Stiles grinned and backed up a step, pulling Derek towards the bed. Not for anything naughty of course – not with three other people in the apartment and Derek's caution when it came to his wolfyness – but it would be pretty comfortable to curl up in bed together.

"I don't care about what others think, Derek." Stiles waited until Derek was close enough for him to wrap his arms around those deliciously broad shoulders. "I say you're perfect just the way you are – with or without fur. Not infallible, mind you, and definitely not even flawless, but still perfect."

Derek snorted from amusement but there was a certain shyness to his smile, as if he was actually quite delighted. Stiles imagined that Derek hadn't gotten many compliments lately and was incredibly grateful that Derek actually trusted that Stiles was sincere. Because he truly was. There wasn't a single thing about Derek that Stiles would want to change. Well, besides the homicidal uncle, but that was clearly not Derek's fault.

It felt natural and easy to crawl into bed together – as if they had been doing it for years already – and Stiles was both sad and delighted when Derek pulled off his borrowed t-shirt. Sad because Stiles thought that Derek was absolutely adorable in Stiles' Batman t-shirt but delighted because he would never, ever lament an opportunity to see Derek half naked. God, Derek was gorgeous.

For equality's sake Stiles followed Derek's example of forgoing a shirt and wasn't at all disappointed by how it felt to have Derek's bare skin against his own. He could easily get addicted to that and might have snuggled a little closer than strictly necessary. He just couldn't help it. Derek made him feel both insanely affectionate and incredibly safe. And Stiles really needed that.

He didn't know how long it took for him to nod off, just that he was slowly lulled to sleep by Derek's fingers running through his hair and the sound of Derek's soft, even breaths. It was hypnotic and comforting in a way Stiles was sure he would begin to crave in to time at all.

It was probably that tranquility – the feeling of safety and security – that made Stiles feel so disoriented when he was jolted back to awareness by shrill, high-pitched shriek. It felt like he had just closed his eyes but it was difficult to tell, his room dark save for the small amount of light seeping in through the window from streetlights outside.

He had no idea what time it was or what was going on but he pushed the bright flare of panic away when he heard Derek snarl next to him. Stiles reached out into the darkness on pure reflex, not surprised to notice that Derek had his palms pressed against his ears. If the sound made Stiles' ears ring he didn't want to know what it had to feel like for Derek.

"Hey, it's okay. It's gonna be okay." Stiles was talking nonsense, looking around blearily until he spotted the brightly lit numbers of his alarm clock. 2:23 AM.

The loud, intrusive shrieking continued and Stiles' brain finally kicked into gear. His hands were covering Derek's in a futile attempt to ease his suffering somewhat but he soon started tugging on Derek's shoulders instead.

"Come on, Derek, we've got to get up." Stiles swallowed down the roaring panic and confusion in favor of coaxing Derek up from the bed. "It's the fire alarm. We need to get out."

Before Derek had any time to reply another sound rose to join the first, this one deeper and far more terrifying. Derek's head snapped up to stare at the window when the blood-chilling howl made the glass panes rattle in their frames. Stiles momentarily forgot how to breathe, fear lodging like a lump in his throat. That could only mean one thing.

"He's here," Derek growled through clenched teeth and Stiles felt his stomach drop, feebly trying to catch up to what was happening.

Peter was right outside.

Shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shit is hitting the fan in a HUGE way. Unless the cliff hanger wasn't a good enough indication of that xD  
> I hope you got some answers in this chapter anyway, and yes, I've mixed some things up a little (like Kate's fate etc.) to make it more interesting. I hope no one minds ;)
> 
> TIME FOR THE SHOWDOWN WITH PETER! >:D  
> (And you better brace yourselves. Next chapter is... well... yeah)
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) beta'ed as usual and here's my [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/) for those who are interested!


	11. Inferno

 

* * *

 

Derek grimaced when he reluctantly lowered his hands from his ears – or at least Stiles thought so but it was difficult to tell in the darkened room – but seemed attentive and present despite the rude awakening by the fire alarm. Stiles had no idea what was going on besides the fact that the building was apparently on fire and Peter was a little too close for comfort.

"I don't smell any smoke," Derek said close to Stiles' ear, clearly to avoid having to shout over the sound of the blaring alarm.

That was comforting. Stiles didn't want to get caught in a building on fire and no smoke meant no fire. That still left Peter but at least they could take a moment to breathe instead of evacuating at once.

"Alright, we need to let the others know." Stiles threw a quick glance towards Derek before reaching for his t-shirt. He had no idea what was going to happen but he definitely wanted to be dressed for it. "And get you some earplugs."

Stiles tried to keep his voice down and not make things worse for Derek but it was difficult when he could barely hear himself think.

"Don't bother. Get dressed instead." Derek's words were sharp and precise, no doubt brought on by the severity of the situation. Stiles was just glad that Derek had stopped wincing at the noise.

Derek changed into his soiled, bloodied jeans despite how uncomfortable that had to be, but they would definitely be more durable than the sweatpants Stiles had borrowed him. Derek was pulling the Batman t-shirt over his head when Allison barged in.

"There's no fire," Derek barked before she had time to ask. Allison seemed to take no offense to the tone and gave a sharp nod in confirmation.

"He's trying to chase us out – out into the open." Allison was already dressed in dark jeans and a practical sweatshirt, Scott stumbling to join her in the doorway. Scott looked a lot less gathered, his hair standing on end and his shirt put on backwards.

"We can't stay here," Derek stated, clearly ignoring how Allison seemed to want to interrupt. "He will set the building on fire for real if he thinks it's necessary. We can't stay. People will get hurt."

"Then we lure him away," Stiles blurted out, taking a quick breath before he continued, "lead him away from town – away from innocent bystanders."

Allison seemed to consider this while Derek snatched up a hoodie from the floor that he held out to Stiles, urging him to take it. If the situation had been different Stiles might have said something about the babying but it was cold outside and Derek had a point.

"Do you know where we could go?" she asked while Stiles tugged on his hoodie.

"I have an idea, yeah..." He gave Derek a questioning glance and received a confirming nod on reply. The old Hale house it was. It was remote, abandoned and familiar ground for at least Derek and Stiles. Peter too, sadly, but there wasn't much to do about that.

"Come on," Stiles urged while gesturing for the others to get moving.

Lydia was in the kitchen, storing away Molotov cocktails in two duffle bags she had found somewhere. Some sort of box would definitely have been preferable but they had to make do. She was dressed similarly to Allison – Stiles didn't even know that she had such simple clothes in her closet – and her hair was gathered in a messy bun at the back of her head.

"Be careful with this," she ordered as she handed one of the bags to Scott, who took it seemingly out of reflex.

"We need to get out of here, before too many people gather outside," Stiles said while lifting the other bag off the counter. Scattered nods showed that the rest agreed and they all made for the door.

Jackets were put on hastily or not at all in Derek's case because he didn't have one and Stiles made sure to grab the keys for his car before they all hurried outside. People from the other apartments were rushing by out in the hallway and Stiles couldn't help that his pulse quickened, the sheer magnitude of the situation finally catching up with him.

He swallowed and headed for the stairs with the others, trying not to let his panic grow when he was jostled by other people trying to evacuate. He knew the building wasn't on fire – he trusted Derek's judgment – but the shouts and rushed footsteps did nothing to ease the urgency he did feel concerning Peter and what they were about to do.

It was in the middle of the night, he was confused and disoriented and someone might die within the next couple of hours. He didn't know if it would be Peter or one of his friends but he wasn't looking forward to either of those options. The growing alarm from the people around them wasn't helping.

The cold air hit Stiles hard when they finally managed to get outside, a small group of people in various states of undress having gathered some distance from the building. They were all sleep-mussed and confused and Stiles let his gaze roam over their faces. He couldn't spot Peter but, then again, he would have been surprised if he had.

A small child was crying in his father's arms and Stiles could hear the approaching sirens of the fire truck. They needed to get a move on and be gone before anyone had time to ask about the heavy bags they were carrying. Fleeing out of a supposedly burning house with an arsenal of Molotov cocktails would look more than a little suspicious.

People from nearby buildings were waking up, some drifting out onto the street to view the spectacle and Stiles had rarely felt so frustrated by people's morbid fascination with disaster and accidents. Trying to make your way through a throng of people wasn't an easy task when you were carrying something extremely fragile and hazardous.

Stiles cursed under his breath when he finally reached the other end of the crowd, Lydia just a step ahead of him. He nearly yelped when he felt a hand grip his arm, until he realized that it was only Derek.

Stiles made a confused noise at the back of his throat when Derek pulled him in for a deep kiss – this was clearly _not_ the time for that – and blinked stupidly when Derek drew back to stare into his eyes for a brief but strangely agonizing second. Derek opened his mouth but it took him several moments before he spoke, as if he had intended to say something entirely different but chickened out in the last minute.

"I'll buy you some time."

Stiles' eyes widened and he sucked in a sharp breath before he even completely registered what Derek had said.

"Wait! Wha-" Stiles tried to grab him but only managed to brush against Derek's arm before he turned and disappeared back into the crowd, slipping through Stiles' fingers. It felt like the world suddenly shrunk into a soundless, aching vacuum. Stiles couldn't breathe. Just like that Derek was gone, out of his reach, and the instant flare of panic was crippling.

Derek was going to seek Peter out. The stupid, heroic idiot was going to go after Peter to make sure that the rest of them had time to escape. Stiles swallowed against the thickness in his throat and fought his instinct to start hyperventilating.

"Stiles!"

He jumped at the sudden shout that somehow managed to cut through his panic-stricken mind. A cacophony of sounds followed – the sirens, people talking and the crying child – all of it bleeding back in time with his awareness. He felt numb when he turned to look a Lydia, hollow and out of balance.

"Stiles, come on!" she hissed, waving for him to hurry up.

Stiles obeyed mostly because he knew that going after Derek would be a useless endeavor. It would only slow them down and cause unnecessary complications.

That didn't mean that Stiles was okay. He went through the motions of unloading his burden in the Jeep with a detachment that bordered on apathy and made sure that the other three had climbed inside the car before he did so himself. He was a little surprised that Peter hadn't sabotaged the Jeep somehow, but perhaps he wanted them to flee. But there was no time to fear an ambush. Derek was going to make sure that didn't happen.

"Where's Derek?" Scott asked once they were all tucked inside the car, sounding adorably worried about someone he barely even knew.

Stiles gritted his teeth against the sharp lash of worry and fear.

"He's staying behind."

It hurt to say it out loud. It felt like ripping his own heart out and he wanted to scream, curse and shout at the unfairness of the world. The silence was suffocation and Stiles busied himself with pushing the key into the ignition with shaking hands.

"Stiles, you know that-" Lydia began.

"He's doing it to give us time, I know," he interrupted harshly, "and I know that Peter probably won't kill him because he wants Derek to suffer and he can't do that if he's dead. But that doesn't mean that I have to like it."

Lydia said nothing about Stiles' rudeness, probably cutting him some slack because she could see exactly how haunted and freaked out he was. No one said anything further as Stiles started up the car and pulled out from the parking lot, leaving the murmuring crowd and newly arrived fire truck behind. Derek was there somewhere – Peter too – but Stiles forced himself not to ponder on that.

Derek was right. Stiles knew that Derek was making the best choice out of a tactical standpoint. They needed to reach the house _before_ Peter in order to get the Molotov cocktails out of their bags and set up some kind of haphazard plan. Without the delay Derek would offer Peter might very well arrive before they did, since he could cut through the forest if he went by foot. Or paws, as terrifying as that imagery was. Allison had said that some alphas could shift into wolves but Derek had never confirmed nor denied whether Peter was one of them.

Stiles grip around the steering wheel was so tight it made his bones grind and he was going a little faster than recommended, even when it was time to head down the poorly maintained road that lead through the woods.

The others were mostly silent, either because of the weight of the situation or because Stiles was giving off some seriously pissed off vibes. Allison was the one who finally dared to speak up, sitting in the back seat with Scott and the two duffel bags.

"Okay, I only managed to bring this." She held up a small crossbow and Stiles couldn't help that he did a double take. "But it won't be all too effective against an alpha."

"Where did you hide _that_?"

Allison gave Stiles an amused smirk before ignoring his question altogether.

"I have two knives as well but we really should avoid close combat if we can."

Stiles wanted to ask if she always traveled with a small arsenal but he doubted that she would answer. Lydia held out her hand for one of the knives while Scott looked uncertain.

"Scott and I will handle the Molotov cocktails. It's not quite like lacrosse but we still know how to throw things, right?" Stiles tried for light-hearted, both for his own and Scott's sake, but he landed somewhere closer to forced and slightly strangled. Scott nodded all the same, managing a small smile.

They were all anxious when Stiles eventually pulled up in front of the burned, gloomy house. It was usually a comfort to Stiles – he had surprisingly many good memories involving Derek's house – but now it looked dark and imposing. The fact that it was in the middle of the night and that they had a murderous alpha after them didn't help.

They piled out of the car and Stiles shivered in the cold air despite his hoodie and jacket. He and Scott grabbed the duffels while Allison made a quick sweep of the surroundings, obviously slipping into some kind of hunter-mode that was both impressive and scary. And more than a little hot.

On Stiles' suggestion he and Scott placed a couple of bottles on strategic locations where they would be easily accessible but hopefully not spotted, like next to the porch and by a tree trunk. The majority was stored inside the foyer of the house though. They had eleven cocktails in total and Stiles had no idea whether that would be too much or too little. It was impossible to tell.

Adrenaline was beginning to seep into his veins and he almost started jumping on the balls of his feet, not because he was eager but because he was getting fidgety and nervous. This was beyond what any of them could handle. Not even Allison was trained for taking down an alpha with this little backup.

Waiting was nerve-wracking.

Allison kept giving tips and directions but Stiles found that he stopped listening after a while. He couldn't hear anything over the roaring in his ears and the beating of his own heart. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he was scared. Terribly scared. He couldn't understand how things had come to this. But he still didn't regret meeting Derek – nothing could make him do that – even if this might turn ugly before the night was over.

Stiles desperately wished that he had called his dad before they left, even if it was in the middle of the night. He couldn't bear the thought of not having spoken to him one last time. But since Stiles had forgotten his phone and what with the lack reception he wouldn't have been able to anyway. He would just have to make sure that he survived so that he could hug his dad again.

The woods around them were dark, illuminated only by the pale light of the moon, but once Stiles' eyes got used to it he could see surprisingly well. He didn't know if it was that or something else that made him look up, just a second before he saw something move amongst the shadows. For a brief, foolish moment hope sparked in his chest but he should have known that it wouldn't be Derek.

Peter's smile was nothing short of deranged and Stiles wasn't surprised to notice that the others stiffened. This might be what they had been waiting for but whether they were ready or not, well, that was another thing entirely.

Allison had reminded them not to gather too closely together, no matter how secure it might feel – it would only make them into one big target instead of four smaller ones. Their best shot was to get Peter surrounded and keep him at a safe distance either with Allison's arrows or the Molotov cocktails.

"Well, what a lovely little party you've got here," Peter drawled as he sauntered into the slight clearing in front of the house. Stiles felt his stomach turn when he saw the dark stains on the light grey shirt underneath Peter's jacket, too dark to be anything but blood. Peter smirked and looked down at himself, as if he could read Stiles' thoughts – or perhaps just his heartbeat. "Yes, he did put up quite a fight. So utterly typical of my nephew to do something so self-sacrificing and stupid."

Stiles gritted his teeth so hard he was afraid that he'd break something. Derek wasn't dead. He was hurt but not dead. Peter wouldn't kill him and if he had he would definitely have gloated rather than just implicated that he had done _something_ to Derek to make him bleed to that degree. It wasn't much of a comfort though. Derek was still obviously hurt, probably lying bleeding somewhere without any kind of help on the way. Stiles wanted to throw up.

"And look at you," Peter practically cooed, turning towards Allison. "I would recognize you anywhere. Allison, was it? Just as beautiful as your aunt – and probably just as twisted and deadly. She was a feisty one."

Allison's poker face was magnificent, not revealing even the slightest hint of what she might be thinking. The crossbow was strapped to her lower back, out of view so that it would hopefully offer at least a small element of surprise. They needed whatever benefits they could get.

"Now, this presents a dilemma for me," Peter carried on, clearly not bothered by the fact that he received no kind of answer to his monologue, "because here I have the niece of the woman who decimated my family and the boy who takes away one of the few pleasures I still have in life. Which one do I kill first?"

Peter spread his hands, as if to offer the question for their consideration. Stiles didn't even flinch. A frighteningly strong rage was burning inside him and he was just waiting for an opportunity to strike. He knew that it would be either him or Allison who acted first, giving the others the go-ahead, probably because they were the most invested.

Peter sighed dramatically before shaking his head sadly.

"Well, I guess it doesn't really matter in the end. Your fates are sealed and the real question is whether I'll spare your friends or not." Stiles stiffened despite himself and Allison threw a quick glance at Scott, one Peter didn't miss, judging on the smile that curled his lips. "How about we do this the easy way? You two surrender peacefully and I'll let them go."

Stiles snorted. He didn't trust Peter to keep such a promise.

"My answer is the same as last time." Stiles met Peter's gaze without hesitation. "No."

Peter's smile widened, his voice lowering into a rolling, rumbling growl. He seemed pleased.

"Marvelous."

Stiles didn't know who reacted first – he or Allison – but it was obvious that they both understood what was coming. What the ripple that seemed to pass under Peter's skin meant.

"Get back!" Allison shouted, pulling out her crossbow almost simultaneously to Stiles diving for the Molotov cocktails next to the porch.

An arrow whistled through the air but even if it found its mark, burying deep in Peter's shoulder and making him jerk from the impact, the change was already underway. Clothes ripped and shredded as Peter's shape grew and morphed, pale skin shifting to dark, spotty fur.

Stiles forced himself not to stare in horror and instead gave a sharp whistle to catch Scott's attention. Now was the time to act. The shift wasn't instantaneous and Peter was momentarily vulnerable.

Scott caught the bottle Stiles lobbed at him with surprising ease while Allison reloaded her crossbow with expert efficiency. Without prompting Scott took aim and threw the cocktail at Peter. During a breathless moment it looked like that too would hit home, before Peter snarled and rolled to the side, narrowly missing the flying projectile. The glass shattered against the ground and lit a circle of brightly burning flames, a burst of light in the otherwise dark night. Peter roared in fury, now on all fours and Stiles swallowed at the sight of the creature looking back at them.

It didn't even look like a wolf. The shoulders were massive compared to the hind legs and the face was some kind of twisted mix between a wolf and some other nameless animal. The eyes were brilliant red. It looked frankly terrifying and the row of long, sharp teeth only served to make Stiles even more nervous.

"Spread out!" Allison barked and Stiles nodded for Scott to head for the tree where they had left more ammunition.

Even if he was now a lot bigger Peter didn't seem to have lost much in terms of speed or agility, which became obvious when he dodged the next arrow Allison fired, lunging at her with a furious bark. Stiles didn't even hesitate before he threw one of his cocktails, right in front of Peter's paws. The following howl was closer to a pained whine when Peter recoiled from the flames rising up from the ground, clearly not fast enough to avoid getting singed. It didn't matter that it only hurt him since it gave Allison time to retreat and reach for another arrow, Scott keeping Peter busy by making him roll away from another missile.

Stiles knew they couldn't keep that up – they didn't have enough to just throw them at random and hope to keep Peter at bay. They needed a plan but Stiles found it difficult to figure one out when they had so little to work with. They were still painfully human and easy targets when facing a predator like this one.

Allison's next arrow struck Peter just above his hip but instead of charging at her again he turned towards Scott, who was marginally closer and definitely easier to reach. Stiles couldn't even blame Scott for recoiling but he wished that it hadn't resulted in Scott stumbling and falling back with a startled yelp. Peter's victorious howl made Stiles' blood freeze and he couldn't swallow the panicked sound that rose in his throat, nor hinder his own reflex to dive forwards to help even if he wasn't nearly close enough to make any difference.

"SCOTT!" Allison's terrified scream was pure agony. Stiles felt his chest clench.

Not Scott. Please, not Scott.

The clearing suddenly flooded with light, making everyone – including Peter – wince and recoil backwards. Stiles blinked against the bright spots dancing across his vision, raising his hand in a feeble attempt to shield his eyes. It looked like headlights. His Jeep's headlights, he realized a second later, when he heard Lydia's shout.

"Scott! Run!"

While it incapacitated all of them Stiles had to admit that Lydia had done the only thing that could possibly stop Peter in his path and not risk harming Scott in the process. Peter seemed even more disoriented than the rest of them and Allison hastily made to notch another arrow. Peter was clearly furious, lashing out with his sharp claws just inches from Scott as he crawled backwards, barely out of reach. Stiles pulled his arm back to throw the beaker in his hand, praying that his aim was true enough not to hit Scott, but a flash of luminous, brilliant blue made him falter.

Derek was suddenly there with them, heading straight for Peter with a feral snarl and tackled the much bigger alpha backwards, away from Scott. Stiles was torn between relief at seeing Derek alive and utter horror when he noticed the state he was in.

Despite his dramatic entrance and helpful contribution Derek crashed to the ground and tumbled gracelessly after a sweep with one of Peter's powerful arms sent him flying. Derek wobbled when he tried to push himself up and Stiles hurried forward to help, heedless of Derek probably not wanting him to.

Derek's skin was slick with blood and various scratches, Stiles' grip slipping when he tried to tug Derek to his feet. Stiles bit back all the things he wanted to say – the curses, the yelling and the panic-fuelled declarations of agonizing, heart-stopping love – in favor of keeping Derek as stable as possible. He was in worse shape than he had been the previous night, blood flowing sluggishly from several wounds and his eyes barely able to focus. The mere fact that he had somehow been able to reach them so quickly was a miracle in its own right.

Stiles didn't realize that he had allowed his focus slip until he heard Allison's warning shout and looked up to see Peter charge right at them, his red eyes burning with fury. Allison's arrow whistled past, missing Peter's head by a hair's breadth and Stiles felt his heart stutter and stop. He could only freeze and stare in helpless fear when Peter rose onto his hind legs and raised his claws to strike.

An urgent, half-choked sound rose in Derek's throat before Stiles found himself shoved to the ground, a heavy weight settling on top of him. It took him a second to realize that the shudder he felt wasn't his – it was Derek's. And it wasn't a shudder. It was an involuntary convulsion. Stiles stared up at Derek's face in incomprehension, at the blood trickling from his mouth and the slowly dulling glow in his eyes. Stiles' mind shut down.

His gaze travelled to Peter, visible somewhere above Derek's shoulder, and the triumph burning in those red eyes. One simple twist of Peter's arm and Derek gave another violent jerk, blood bubbling out of his mouth. Stiles grew cold. So incredibly cold. His numb fingers scrabbled to reach Derek, clenching around blood soaked fabric. His mind struggled to find purchase and was met with nothing but blankness. His mouth opened but he choked on his words. His gaze met Derek's and in it he saw something flicker and die. Stiles couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't. He _couldn't_.

Derek's head lolled forward, his body turning limp when all his strength seemed to fade. One last frail, shivering breath whispered against Stiles' cheek before they stopped altogether. Stiles felt something inside him break. Pain exploded in his chest, flaring out into his limbs. It made him tremble. It made him breathless. He couldn't breathe. It suffocated him. The pain, the desperation, the fear, the panic – the _denial_.

Stiles choked on a wounded, heartbreaking sound when Derek was suddenly yanked away – off of Stiles and out of his reach – tossed aside with a carelessness that had Stiles struggling against a whine. Derek rolled along the frozen leaves, coming to a halt with painful, undeniable finality. He wasn't moving. He was absolutely still.

Stiles' head was spinning, his entire body was shaking and a part of him just couldn't understand what was going on. A low, deep growl pulled him back into the present with enough force to make him reel, his head snapping back to stare at Peter's transformed face and the long, sharp teeth just inches away from sinking into his throat.

"STILES!"

He felt rather than saw the knife Allison tossed skid to a halt next to his hand and reflexes Stiles didn't know he had kicked in with such swiftness that not even Peter saw it coming. Anger, fear and grief burned in his throat, tears clouding his eyes, but when his fingers closed around the knife's handle Stiles didn't hesitate.

The blade lodged in one of Peter's eyes, a pained, agonized howl ripping from the alpha's throat as he recoiled backwards, trying to get away from what was hurting him. Stiles got up on trembling legs and lunged forward before Peter had time to get out of his reach, sinking the knife into Peter's muzzle, merciless and without hesitation. He leaned all his weight onto the small knife, hearing the crack of bone and feeling warm blood gush over his fingers. Stiles' breaths were coming in sharp, choking bursts, his entire being quaking under the crushing emotions he had no intention of validating.

Denial.

Garbled, animalistic snarls cut through the air but Stiles didn't relent. It was only when Peter bucked and Stiles' grip slipped that the alpha got enough room to push Stiles back and in the next second he found himself flying through the air.

Stiles gasped when his back slammed against hard, unforgiving wood before he landed awkwardly on his side. It took him a second to realize that he had been thrown up onto the porch. His ribs ached and a sharp pang in his back made him moan. He could hear the distant whistle of another one of Allison's arrows but it was soon drowned out by Peter's roar. It shook the trees, wild, untamed and unforgiving.

When Stiles managed to look up the monstrous creature was tossing its head from side to side, trying to shake off the knife that was still buried nearly to the hilt, going straight through the upper jaw, making it impossible for Peter to close his mouth. It wasn't a wound that would kill him but it clearly made him blind with rage, especially coupled with the pierced eye.

So in a way Stiles wasn't surprised when Peter's large head whipped around, pinpointing Stiles' location either with the use of just the one eye or his sense of smell. Either way Stiles knew what that glare meant. Whatever part of Peter that was human had clearly taken a vacation because when he charged it was with nothing but pure hatred and feral animal instinct.

Stiles struggled to his feet, Peter not stopping even when Scott's well-aimed throw made glass shatter and flames erupt next to Peter's hind legs. The acrid scent of burned fur spread through the air but Stiles had no time to focus on that. Peter was intent on getting to him, heedless of what it would cost him. And the only direction Stiles could flee was backwards – into the house.

He spun on his heel and threw the door open before stumbling inside. He had very little hope of actually avoiding Peter in such a confined space but he'd rather give it a try than just stand out there on the porch, waiting to get mauled.

Peter came barreling into the foyer seconds after Stiles had managed to dive into the living room, pieces of wood flying as the doorframe cracked and broke. But there was another shatter that Stiles at first couldn't place – not until he heard the suddenly overpowering roar of igniting flames. Peter had crashed straight into their supply of Molotov cocktails and the following fire engulfed the wolfish monster without mercy.

Stiles stared with wide eyes as Peter roared in both fury and something painfully close to desperation, flames licking his fur and burning his skin. Stiles thought that he could hear alarmed shouts from outside but he was busy dodging behind the couch when Peter made another great leap, clearly aiming to pin Stiles down and bring him with him when he eventually succumbed to the flames.

The huge werewolf slammed into the couch and Stiles scrambled to crawl away from it before it ignited. Smoke was beginning to cloud the room and Stiles coughed against the sting it caused in his throat. He could hear the crackling of fire and sound of groaning wood, the flames spreading a lot faster than Stiles thought possible.

Peter roared again and while he seemed to have lost most of his coordination he was still trying to reach Stiles, spreading the fire as he stumbled into one piece of furniture after the other, breaking everything he could get his claws into. Stiles' heart was in his throat as he crawled out of reach as quickly as he possibly could, but he soon ran out of places to flee with Peter spreading disaster wherever he went.

Stiles cast a quick glance towards the door but saw nothing but bright, flickering flames, the entire room alight with the orange glow. Stiles coughed and ducked when a small table shattered against the wall above his head, Peter having thrown it in his fury. The alpha was dying, that much was obvious, the question was just whether Stiles was going to die with him or not.

Black smoke was rolling like thunderclouds above them and Stiles forced himself to move towards Derek's room. It was the only way he could go and the only place not yet on fire. The heat was nearly unbearable by then and even if he took care to stay as close to the floor as possible he was gasping for breath between his coughs.

It was Peter's intervention – claws digging into the wood less than an inch from Stiles' calf – that gave him the extra push he needed to fight his way up onto hands and knees and tumble into Derek's room. He tried to close the door but Peter was at his heels, crashing into the barrier with a snapping snarl. Stiles was forced to shy away from the sheer heat the alpha was radiating, the door bursting open a second later.

Stiles was growing increasingly tired, each breath burning in his throat and his body heavy and slow thanks to the lack of oxygen. He still found enough strength to roll under Derek's bed in a last attempt to avoid the fate he knew awaited him. His back pressed against the wall and the bed shuddered when Peter slumped against its edge. One clawed paw reached under the bed, carving long gouges in the wooden floor but Stiles was definitely out of reach.

For a brief moment Stiles' dry lips cracked into a grin, unbelievably pleased that while both of them would die Peter wouldn't get the pleasure of killing him. He couldn't deny that the alpha was surprisingly determined and tenacious, even when on fire, but he would fail. A long, furious howl echoed between the walls in the small room but it eventually faded into a strangled, dying whisper.

Stiles relaxed only when he noticed that Peter had stopped moving entirely, finally succumbing to the no doubt unbelievable pain of being set on fire. Stiles let out a slow breath, his eyes closing on their own accord. While a part of him urged him to try and crawl out from under the bed Peter's still burning body was blocking most of the small space Stiles had at his disposal. He could feel the warm gusts coming from the flames all around him, the sheet of the bed no doubt having caught fire as well. The sound of the house engulfed in flames was nearly deafening. Stiles was so tired.

If only he had called his dad. If only he had told Derek he loved him.

The thought of Derek made something shatter in Stiles' chest. Derek lifeless on the ground outside.

He didn't know how much time passed – probably just seconds – but he felt lethargic and dizzy by the time he heard it, mingled with the groan coming from the house as its already charred bones were set ablaze once again.

"STILES!"

He frowned, blinking blearily. Peter seemed to have turned back to his human form but his body wasn't much more than an indefinable black mass in Stiles' field of vision. Stiles could see hints of bright flames behind the burned, deformed remains of the alpha but it wasn't until he noticed another shape that he realized that he hadn't just imagined someone shouting his name.

A tiny whimper was all Stiles' raw throat could manage but it was enough. In the next second whatever was left of Peter was shoved aside and a face Stiles thought he would never see again was looking back at him. He didn't know if it was an illusion brought on by smoke inhalation or if he had died already but he smiled at the sight of Derek's wolfed out face, even if it was slightly eerie to see how the flickering light of the fire made his eyes glow red.

"Derek..." It was nothing more than a cracked, reverent whisper.

Derek reached out to him.

"Take my hand! Stiles, please hurry!"

Stiles raised his hand to comply, if nothing else to calm that look of pure, unhindered panic on Derek's face. He looked close to breaking, covered in blood with a wild, vulnerable look in his eyes. As if he was about to lose the one thing in his life that mattered.

Stiles' fingers whispered against Derek's and the last thing he saw before his eyelids grew heavy and dropped was the haunted, anguished look on Derek's face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WANT TO REMIND EVERYONE THAT KILLING THE AUTHOR IS NOT A GOOD PLAN IF YOU WANT TO READ THE NEXT CHAPTER
> 
> ... but apart from that I want to apologise x'D I really hadn't planned for this chapter to be uploaded so close to Christmas and I understand if you want to kill me. I really do. I nearly wanted to kill myself while writing this. I hope that the showdown was dramatic and exciting enough ;)
> 
> BUT! There is one chapter left, followed by the bonus chapter. The bonus chapter will unfortunately take a while longer, since it's not yet finished. I'm working on it though.
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) is my awesome beta - she was not happy with me either.
> 
> Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it! :D


	12. A New Beginning

 

* * *

 

Floating in and out of consciousness was tedious. Stiles had no idea what was going on and the few glimpses he got were hazy and confusing. He felt strangely light and despite the distant knowledge that it was difficult to breathe and that he could barely move there was no pain. As soon as he felt even the slightest spark and stiffened against the sheets it seeped away like never having been there.

It took him a while to realize that he was in a hospital. It wasn't until he actually opened his eyes for longer than three seconds that he knew for sure. He still couldn't quite make heads or tails of things except that Lydia was there, running her fingers through his hair and smiling down at him with suspiciously foggy eyes.

"Hi there." He had never heard her voice so soft and gentle. "Scott went to find a doctor."

Stiles didn't know whether to frown or smile back and when he tried to ask her what happened it felt like someone had shoved shards of glass down his throat. He had time to squeeze his eyes shut and whimper before the grip around one of his hands tightened and the pain subsided.

"Sssh," Lydia hushed, her voice laced with worry, "easy, Stiles. You inhaled a lot of smoke and need to be careful. Just breathe, alright? Relax."

That was easier said than done but Stiles gave a miniscule nod before trying to calm his breathing. It felt strange to have an oxygen mask over his face but even in his disoriented state he knew that it was there to help him so he let it be.

He blinked his eyes open, trying to catch her gaze again. She made him feel grounded. Lydia smiled softly.

"Your dad is on the way. He'll be here in a couple of hours. Try to get some rest until then, okay?" She glanced behind her and Stiles noticed a blurry shape he realized had to be Allison. "We'll stay with you. Everything is going to be fine."

He felt stupid for not connecting the dots until then. The fire. Peter. _Derek_.

Stiles stiffed, his heartbeat spiking in panic. God, Derek. Where was Derek? He tried to turn his head to see better – see more of the room – but it didn't seem to work so he began twisting his entire body instead, ignoring the pain in his chest. Lydia pushed him back down against the bed with as gentle hands as possible but he heard the alarmed spike in her voice.

"Careful, Stiles! You can't-"

Stiles stopped listening. Where was Derek? He was sure he had seen Derek before he passed out. And if Stiles was there Derek should be too. He needed to know that Derek was alright. Derek _had_ to be alright. Stiles could still remember the agony of seeing Derek's eyes go dull and lifeless. He couldn't stand it. He needed Derek to be alive. He needed Derek.

Panic and grief gave strength to his struggle against Lydia's grip and a heartbroken whine scratched in his throat. The grip around his hand tightened and it was only in a distant part of his mind that he registered that it wasn't the hand on Lydia's side of the bed.

"Stiles!"

He stilled immediately. That was the voice he had been looking for. Stiles blinked against the blurriness in his eyes, not even caring that he was on the verge of tears. He was so, so frightened.

Derek looked tired and worn when he appeared on Stiles' right but Stiles was happy to see him at all. The croak he gave was closer to a whimper and Derek hurried to move closer, one of his hands sliding into Stiles' hair, so much like it always did when they were cuddling up back at Derek's house. It made Stiles feel so good he wanted to cry.

Derek didn't quite seem to know what to do – especially not when the first couple of tears trickled out of the corner of Stiles' eyes – and Stiles reached for him, only to have his IV-tube snag on something. Derek quickly gathered Stiles' hands, probably to keep him from hurting himself but Stiles took comfort in the contact none the less.

"Calm down, Stiles," Derek said, slower and gentler this time, Lydia taking a step back to give them room. Stiles sucked in the biggest breath he could manage. Derek was there. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

Stiles swallowed despite how it made his throat sting and nodded, trying to blink away the tears without much luck. Relief was growing in his chest, making him feel both elated and so incredibly tired. Derek was alive. Derek was fine. He was right there, holding Stiles' hands.

He felt himself relax against the pillows but he couldn't help squeezing Derek's fingers for reassurance. It was weak but made him feel a lot better. Derek looked a little awkward and hesitant – as if he was afraid that he would hurt Stiles somehow – when he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Stiles' forehead. Stiles' eyelids fluttered.

"Get some sleep."

Stiles had no objections now that he knew that Derek was there with him and nodded weakly. Sleep seemed like a good idea. He was still blessedly pain-free but felt exhausted all the same. He squeezed Derek's hand again, slowly letting his eyes close.

Lydia said something but he couldn't quite hear what as he slipped into a dreamless sleep within seconds. It felt strangely peaceful.

Next time Stiles woke he was much more lucid, even if it was only a couple of hours later. He found out that it was just before noon and while a part of him was surprised that it hadn't been longer since the fire he was thankful that he wasn't in worse shape. He had apparently been extremely lucky.

After some routine questions Stiles answered with nods or shakes of his head he was put through several tests, given medications, chest examinations and more attention than he ever wanted from a medical team ever again.

Neither of his friends – not even Derek – were allowed to stick around during the proceedings and Stiles tried not to make himself panic at the thought of being alone with complete strangers in a foreign environment. He didn't like hospitals all that much. It wasn't a phobia or anything he was bothered by on a daily basis but to lie there and have people poke and prod at him while seeing nothing but sterile white and patiently smiling faces put him on edge. It was the universal expressions nurses and doctors had when dealing with patients and it was eerily similar to the one he had seen directed at his mom during her hospital stay. Just before she died.

He braved through it but couldn't deny that he was grateful when it was over and he was greeted by familiar faces rather than polite professionals. He didn't relax fully until Derek laced their fingers together and Stiles felt every ounce of lingering pain leech from his bones.

All in all his condition and expectations of recovery were good though. He had relatively minor burns on his left arm and shoulder and while it would definitely scar he wouldn't need skin grafts. The swelling in his throat was an expected result of the smoke inhalation but as long as it didn't get infected he would be fine in time, hopefully without any lingering damage. Stiles was carefully optimistic about the whole thing, glad that he had survived at all.

Interestingly enough the one who seemed to have memorized Stiles' medical charts was Derek, and no one listened more intently as soon as the doctor said anything. Stiles suspected that it was Derek's way of keeping calm and reassuring himself that Stiles would be okay, since he barely knew what it was like for humans when they got hurt. It had to be scary for someone who could brush off broken bones in minutes to see Stiles stuck in a hospital bed.

After checking her phone Lydia told Stiles that his dad would arrive within the hour, probably to give him some time to prepare for the emotional rollercoaster _that_ would be, and while he had hundreds of questions he liked to ask Stiles couldn't find the strength to speak. Partly due to the state of his throat and partly due to general exhaustion. He settled for listening to the others instead, smiling softly as Scott climbed up at the foot of Stiles' bed and started talking about something completely irrelevant. The distraction was welcome.

The only thing Stiles made sure not to drift away from was his grip on Derek. He had no idea how Derek had survived and Stiles didn't want to let him out of his sight if he could help it. Not yet.

But when his dad finally arrived everyone made themselves scarce, even Derek despite the fact that Stiles wouldn't have minded if he had stayed. Derek looked uncomfortable, stiffening and shying away from the firm, level gaze Stiles' dad pinned him with. It didn't take a genius to see that Derek was feeling guilty about Stiles being in the hospital and that it was only made worse by the presence of a very worried, very protective parent. Stiles let Derek go, for now.

His dad did most of the talking, Stiles replying through simple gestures or scribbling hastily on a notepad Allison had brought. The doctors had told him that the less he strained his throat the better and since it still hurt to talk he opted not to.

There were quite a few questions about who Derek was and Stiles made sure to focus on the most important part, namely that Derek had been the one to drag him out of the burning building. Which was why Stiles didn't feel the least bit guilty about berating his dad for being rude towards Derek when he had first arrived. While his dad probably saw Derek's rough edges and rugged appearance as something to be wary of he definitely warmed up to him when he heard that Derek had been the one to save Stiles' life.

And when his dad seemed surprised that Derek himself was not in the hospital Stiles smoothly avoided explaining why. That would have to wait until he could actually speak again without having to write things down. He'd get a cramp before he was even halfway done.

The day passed in a blur after that. Stiles was allowed to remove the oxygen mask when he felt that he didn't need it and was given some liquid food when dinner rolled around. His dad looked worried but somewhat calmer after each hour that passed without any signs of infection or complications.

Stiles took it all in a stride and listened to his friends chattering and talking. He was slowly but surely losing his patience however, wanting to know about Peter and how Derek had survived something that had seemed quite fatal at the time. But he couldn't exactly ask, especially not when Derek seemed to be keeping a respectful distance now that Stiles' dad was there to supervise. Stiles would have groaned if he could do so without seriously hurting himself.

So when visiting hours were over and everyone was politely but firmly sent home Stiles reached out and grabbed Derek's hand. It felt warm against Stiles' colder fingers and Derek turned towards him with an expression that was too blank to be real. He was trying to keep his emotions from showing.

Stiles tugged until Derek leaned closer – somewhat hesitantly due to Stiles' dad who observed them from the doorway.

"Stay." Stiles barely recognized the low, raspy sound as his own voice. At least it was discreet enough for only Derek to hear what he said.

Derek seemed inches from frowning before he moved close enough to whisper in Stiles' ear.

"I'll come back later. It's better if they think I've left."

Stiles felt a knot in his chest ease, as if he had seriously been afraid that Derek would deny his request. He should have known better. Of course Derek wouldn't. The look on Derek's face and the way he kissed Stiles' forehead before he straightened was proof enough of that.

The smile Stiles gave him was probably dorky and lovesick enough for it to make it abundantly clear what Stiles felt for Derek. It didn't matter. He wouldn't lie about it and his dad hadn't asked. Yet. But all in due time.

His visitors filed out of the room, all promising to be back tomorrow, and Stiles was left alone with the nurse checking his monitors and IV. He didn't mind since it gave him some time to close his eyes and gather his wits.

His dad had been worried to say the least and while Stiles had done his best to assure him that it had all been an accident he was pretty sure that his dad could tell that Stiles was lying. He would explain it in detail, at the same time as he revealed what Derek was, but until then he had to lie. Even if it was heartbreaking to see his father's disappointment when he realized that there were things his son was keeping from him. Their relationship had always been an open one and it grieved Stiles that he had to change that now. At least until they went home for Christmas. He would tell his dad then.

A slight relief was that everyone else seemed to be at least relatively fine. Scott had a small scrape on his cheek and walked with a slight limp but the girls seemed uninjured or at least better at hiding it. Derek had looked quite exhausted at the beginning of the day but Stiles had not seen any hints of any lingering injuries, despite their severity. Stiles had no idea how Derek had managed to heal so fast.

But he had to admit that it amused him greatly to see Derek dressed in one of Stiles' arguably too-tight t-shirts. Well, until he realized that the reason for that was because Derek's own clothes had probably gone up in smoke. For a second time.

Stiles felt a horrible tightness in his chest. The fire had been too powerful for much to have survived. All of Derek's books. His clothes. His safe haven. Everything was gone. Derek had lost everything – and it was all Stiles' fault. Guilt churned in his gut and he barely even nodded to the friendly nurse as he said goodnight to Stiles and stepped outside.

Shit. Where would Derek be staying? He didn't have a home anymore. Stiles hoped that Lydia had had the foresight to offer him Stiles' room or something, because his dad had opted to stay at a hotel closer to the hospital. Stiles had a sneaking suspicion that it was mostly to avoid having to sleep in Stiles' messy room, but he was grateful if it left a bed for Derek.

His thoughts were spinning but he still heard the slight creak of the window being slid open. A burst of chilly air swept into the room but it was actually quite refreshing. Stiles was unable to hide his smile at the sight of Derek climbing inside, surprisingly nimble for a guy his size. It had barely been five minutes and it was endearing to know that Derek couldn't have done more than leave the hospital grounds before he doubled back.

Derek took the hand Stiles held out to him after having made sure that the window was closed. Stiles was tired to the bones and sighed in relief when the ache in his burned shoulder and arm seemed to ease. He would probably have continued to accept it as a coincidence that it happened when Derek was touching him if he hadn't seen the lacework of black veins that slithered under Derek's skin.

It was brief and gone between one blink and the next but still made Stiles frown. He gave Derek a hard, questioning look before pointedly nodding towards their joined hands. It was a testament to how well they could communicated without words that Derek apparently understood what Stiles was referring to. Or that he wouldn't be able to brush it aside, more correctly.

"It... removes pain." Derek seemed a little hesitant and Stiles' eyes narrowed. Derek sighed and rolled his eyes. "It transfers to me. But I barely feel it before the healing kicks in."

Stiles pursed his lips but decided not to argue. Derek wouldn't back down anyway and he did have a point. Stiles was very grateful for the relief it offered.

He swallowed carefully before reaching for his pad, mourning the fact that he had to let go of Derek's hand to be able to write. He still preferred that over talking, at least for now.

' _Your house?_ '

Derek frowned before he shook his head. There was a hint of sadness there but he seemed less distraught than Stiles would have thought. Stiles grit his teeth and tried to push back the guilt.

' _Sorry. It's my fau-_ '

Derek wrapped his fingers around Stiles', staying his hand to keep him from finishing the sentence. Stiles looked up, meeting Derek's gaze.

"It's not. And it's fine. I'm just glad I got you out in time." Derek was clearly not lying, his sincerity obvious in both his voice and eyes. "But if I had only gotten there sooner you wouldn't-"

It was Stiles' time to interrupt Derek even if he did so less smoothly by slapping Derek's arm with his writing pad. If Stiles didn't get to wallow in apparently misdirected guilt then neither did Derek. Also, the frankly offended look on Derek's face was quite hilarious so Stiles slapped him again, just for good measure.

Derek seemed to understand what Stiles was getting at and even if he didn't look entirely convinced he was at least smart enough not to insist on shouldering the blame. Stiles continued to scribble on his pad.

' _How did you get me out? I thought you die-_ ' Stiles faltered before furiously crossing over the last word ' _-were too hurt_.'

That made Derek look downright uncomfortable. Stiles tilted his head to the side, waiting for an explanation, but Derek seemed more interested in staring at the floor. It took several seconds before Derek finally answered and when he did so he pulled away a little, as if he thought that he should put some distance between them. It made Stiles worried.

"When Peter died... certain things can be passed on within a pack or through blood ties." Derek sighed when Stiles raised a questioning eyebrow, his arms crossing a bit defensively over his chest. "I didn't ask for it. I honestly didn't."

Stiles rolled his eyes and wrote with big, blocky letters on his pad.

' _WHAT?_ '

When Stiles looked up again Derek's eyes were glowing red. The flicker of crimson Stiles had seen just before he passed out had apparently _not_ been because of the surrounding fire. It gave Stiles pause but he congratulated himself on not flinching. The last time he had seen red eyes was on Peter and those weren't exactly fond memories – or very distant for that matter.

"I'm an alpha now."

Stiles allowed that information to sink in, not breaking eye contact, knowing that Derek was just waiting for him to do so. As if that would be some kind of confirmation that Stiles didn't like it. But, truth be told, he knew too little to draw a conclusive opinion. He had been told that alphas were violent and brutal, yes, but Derek didn't seem to have changed at all.

Seconds passed before Stiles looked down to be able to write the only question that mattered.

' _Would you have died without it?_ '

Derek didn't even hesitate.

"Yes."

Stiles took a slow, agonizing breath. Derek managed to say that far too easily.

"Alphas heal faster. Peter dying and his alpha powers transferring to me was the only thing that could have given me the strength to get up."

Which in turn meant that not only would Derek have died but Stiles too. Without it Derek wouldn't have been able to drag Stiles out from the burning house. It put things in perspective.

So Stiles simply reached up and tugged at Derek's collar until he bent down, allowing Stiles to steal a quick, chaste kiss. His hand moved to rest against the side of Derek's neck, Stiles' thumb running along his jaw. It still felt odd without the fur.

"It's fine," he croaked hoarsely. He'd rather have Derek be an alpha than not have him at all.

Derek's kiss was soft with a hint of gratefulness – as if he had feared that Stiles would somehow be put off by the change. Peter might have been bad but Derek was nothing like him. Derek wouldn't become violent just because he was more powerful. Stiles had faith in him. Not to mention that it might even be a tiny bit hot.

But that would have to wait because even kissing was a thoroughly bad idea considering the state of Stiles' throat and the risk of infection. Not that Derek carried anything what with his immune system, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

' _His body?_ '

Derek took a slow breath.

"The hunters arrived early this morning and Allison made sure they took care of everything back at the house."

Stiles blinked, writing quickly enough to make the pen catch on the paper.

' _Won't they come after you?_ '

"It's fine. She didn't tell them about me." Derek looked a little uncomfortable though, as if he didn't like the thought of being indebted to Allison. It still made Stiles slump against his pillows in relief. Having to deal with hostile hunters wasn't high on his list of things he wanted to do.

Derek's fingers wandered into Stiles' hair and he made the decision that whatever other questions he had could wait until tomorrow. Stiles was too tired to keep getting worked up over things he probably couldn't change anyway. So Stiles did the only reasonable thing and insisted that Derek crawl up in the bed with him.

He wanted to have Derek close. The scare he had been submitted to and the almost casual confirmation that yes, he would have lost Derek had Peter not died was enough to make Stiles incredibly clingy. He knew that he should feel bad about Peter and while he certainly took no joy in knowing that someone had lost their life he was incapable of feeling guilty about it. Because it meant that he got to keep Derek.

Stiles had never claimed not to be partial.

The writing pad was placed on the bedside table while they tried their best to get comfortable. Even if the bed was narrow Stiles found that he didn't mind. Derek took extra care not to press on any of Stiles' injuries or his chest – which made the sleeping arrangements all the more difficult – but they managed in the end. And all the shuffling was worth it once they could settle in and Stiles closed his eyes, surrounded by Derek's presence and smell.

He had no doubt that Derek would make sure that they weren't caught – not that Stiles really cared. But it was probably better if no one knew, simply because they would forbid it otherwise. The fact was that Stiles knew that he would sleep better with Derek by his side and he wasn't going to let a few injuries stop him. Not when Derek traced Stiles' brow with his fingertips and kissed his nose in a gesture that was far too cute for someone like Derek. Stiles grinned like a dork.

"Go to sleep, Stiles."

Stiles nodded, relaxing when the slowly building pain he had felt in his chest eased, his eyes closing in relief. Derek's palm felt warm against Stiles' cheek. Happiness wrapped around him like a comforting blanket and he soon fell asleep with a lingering smile on his lips.

Stiles took a deep breath of the cold air as he looked out over the cemetery. His throat didn't outright hurt anymore even if it was obvious that there was still some healing to be done. But all in due time, the doctors had told him. There seemed to be no lasting damage and close to two weeks was a pretty short amount of time when it came to recovering from any kind of serious injury.

He pulled up his scarf over his nose, gathering a cocoon of warm, humid air for him to breathe in. It limited the bite of the December chill and stung less in his throat.

Christmas was over and New Years was just a couple of days away and not even the cemetery was without its fair share of jolliness. Some family members had decorated their loved ones' tombstones with colorful flowers, baubles and trinkets in a way that Stiles felt was perhaps a little gaudy but each to his own.

The one he was there for was a bit more discreet but in no way uncared for or unloved. They had already been over to leave flowers during Christmas Day but today Stiles was there for different reason.

He squeezed the fingers interlaced with his and looked at Derek with a smile – one that could only be seen in his eyes considering his covered mouth. Derek's responding smile was small but kind of sweet. Perhaps a little awkward too.

"Thanks for agreeing to come with me." There was still a vague rasping to Stiles' voice from time to time but that too would probably fade.

Derek's reply was a simple nod. Ever since Stiles had recovered enough to start talking again Derek had reverted back to being more silent, as if only one of them could be vocal at a time. Stiles didn't mind. He could still read Derek's moods in his body language and face when he needed to. Words were kind of redundant.

Stiles started leading them towards his mother's tombstone, Derek walking alongside him with a casualness that was still quite new. Stiles didn't know whether it was because he was an alpha now or because Derek had gotten used to being around people without flinching while Stiles was admitted to the hospital. Either way he looked surer of himself, and more relaxed. It was obvious that there were still times where Derek forgot that he didn't have to hide his face anymore but it was getting better.

Stiles had even convinced him to start styling his hair and it had been obvious on Derek's practiced movements that it was something he had done many times before. And he looked good in it. Deliciously so, even.

"Did I mention that I like the jacket?" Stiles asked with a grin. Derek rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Stiles. Four times."

Derek was even keeping count. How adorable. But there was just something with seeing Derek in a black leather jacket that made Stiles feel so incredibly happy. Perhaps because it made Derek look so tough and serious while he, in reality, was one of the kindest, most caring people Stiles knew. Once you got past the hard surface, that is.

"Your dad seemed skeptical though."

Stiles scoffed and bumped his shoulder against Derek's.

"He keeps forgetting I'm not fifteen anymore, that's all. And the whole werewolf thing kind of makes him nervous..." Stiles looked at the tombstones they passed on their way, all of the names familiar considering how often he had been there.

His dad had taken the news pretty well, in all honesty. Like with Lydia it had demanded a demonstration before he really believed it but since Stiles had been able to convince his dad that he wouldn't leave for Beacon Hills without Derek they had had a werewolf at their disposal. Stiles didn't want to lie to his dad and Derek had actually seemed relieved. Probably because it wasn't all that fun to live like a secret, hidden away out in the woods. No, Stiles made it absolutely clear that Derek was there to stay and that his dad would just have to accept that.

And he did, Stiles could see that. After the initial caution and hesitation his dad seemed to have realized that Derek was just like any other guy, with some additions. They all got along surprisingly well, probably because Stiles had assured his dad that no, there would be no indecency while they were staying at the house. He and Derek hadn't gotten to that stage in their relationship yet. But they did insist on sleeping in the same bed which his dad allowed without any kind of fuzz.

All in all coming back to Beacon Hills for Christmas had been a nice affair, once Stiles had been released from the hospital and they were allowed to, that was. The fact that Derek came with him certainly helped. Derek had seemed a little hesitant at first – as if he didn't want to intrude – but Stiles had pointed out that if he stayed Stiles would just worry about him, since Derek had lost the only home he had. Sure, he was welcome to crash at Stiles and Lydia's apartment but it felt unnecessary when he could just come with Stiles. So after some convincing he did.

Derek still kept a respectful distance when it was obvious that he might have been out of place – like when Stiles and his dad had gone to visit the cemetery during Christmas Day. Derek had opted to stay at the house then, probably sensing that it would have been to overstep his bounds if he didn't.

He was there now though, on Stiles' request, because Stiles felt that it was something he wanted Derek to take part of. The death of Stiles' mother had, after all, been one of the things that ended up being what pulled them together. And a small part of him – one that made him feel quite silly – wanted his mother to see Derek and how happy he made Stiles. She would have liked that.

A quick squeeze of his hand made Stiles return to the present and he smiled at Derek.

"But he likes you," Stiles picked up where he had left off. "The fact that you've missed out on several years of professional sports gives him something to educate you on and he seems to like that."

"So I've noticed." Derek sounded amused and Stiles grinned, cuddling closer even if it made it slightly difficult to keep walking.

"Just indulge him."

Derek's answer was to kiss the small patch of skin on Stiles' temple that was visible between his scarf and knitted hat. Stiles decided to take it as a yes.

They continued to walk, eventually stopping in front of the tombstone Stiles knew so well. Not much had happened in the days that had passed since Stiles and his dad were there last but he made sure to crouch down and brush away any errant leaves anyway.

Derek was mostly silent but Stiles hadn't expected anything else. Once he was sure her grave was well taken care of Stiles straightened, finding Derek's hand again. For once he couldn't think of anything to say but it didn't seem like he had to – Derek's expression said that he understood what it was about anyway.

Which might have been why Derek leaned closer, until their foreheads were touching in a simple yet heartfelt show of support. Stiles didn't know what he would do without Derek and his sincere, easy way of offering affection. It was never loud or bold but still made Stiles heart clench with emotion. He hadn't said it out loud yet but he didn't doubt for a second that he loved Derek. He truly did.

But now was clearly not the time to say it either, so Stiles just smiled before tugging a little on Derek's hand, signaling that they could leave. Derek complied without question, seemingly not confused at all that they had taken a drive to the cemetery only to stand by one grave for a couple of minutes before they headed back again. Because Derek understood.

It was on the way back towards the car that Derek stopped, so suddenly that Stiles feared that something was wrong. But Derek didn't look troubled or worried, just thoughtful, his gaze fixed on something in the distance.

"Who's that?"

Stiles blinked in surprise, not having anticipated that kind of question. He looked in the same direction as Derek, his eyes landing on a figure he realized that he recognized.

"Oh man..." Stiles felt a twist of sympathy. "That's Isaac Lahey. He works here, I guess. We went to high school together – same lacrosse team even – but I never really spoke to him. He kept to himself a lot, probably to avoid having to answer questions whenever he had unexplainable bruises."

Derek didn't look away from Isaac and Stiles didn't know whether that was supposed to be classified as creepy or not.

"His dad?" Derek asked, his voice sounding strangely distant.

Stiles cleared his throat softly.

"Yeah, or at least that's what I figured." Stiles looked back towards Isaac, who was busy raking frosted leaves several yards away. "I hoped that he would move after high school – go to college and get away from it, you know? But I guess his dad didn't allow it."

Derek didn't say anything and Stiles began to feel slightly unsettled.

"Do I need to start feeling jealous here, Derek?" he asked, voice a tad bit sharper than intended. He blamed it on the lingering effects of the smoke inhalation.

"What?" Derek snapped back to attention, blinking at Stiles in confusion. His eyes were glowing red. "No. No, nothing like that."

Stiles looked long and hard at the expression on Derek's face. There was something akin to longing there, but not the kind he saw whenever Stiles and Derek got separated for days at a time. No, this was something different – sometime innate and instinctive. Something connected to werewolfism, if the red eyes was any indication.

Stiles tilted his head to the side and pulled a little closer, so that he could lower his voice.

"Are you thinking about adopting, Derek?"

The expression on Derek's face was priceless but once the first flash of bewilderment had settled something new was growing in Derek's eyes. Hope. Stiles wasn't sure if he was supposed to encourage it because he was pretty certain that it involved choices that could change someone's life, but he couldn't deny that Derek deserved all the happiness he could get. And so did Isaac.

"It's..." Derek hesitated. "Wolves are pack animals."

Stiles could read the implications loud and clear. An alpha needs a pack. Which is why alphas can give the bite and turn people.

Stiles was still hesitant though, even if he couldn't deny that if anyone needed someplace where he could belong and feel safe it was Isaac. But to assume that it would be with them was a bit arrogant. Unless Isaac himself chose that path of course.

"It's always their choice, so if people are willing..." Derek trailed off and Stiles licked his bottom lip, grimacing when his tongue brushed against his scarf.

He didn't know where to stand in this – the only werewolf he knew besides Peter was Derek and he seemed well adjusted to everyday life – but it wasn't Stiles' choice to make. But he would do a lot to make Derek happy, as long as it didn't hurt anyone else. If Isaac was willing then Stiles had no business telling neither him nor Derek not to do it.

"We can go and talk to him?" Stiles suggested with a shrug. If they were discreet no harm would be done, even if Isaac decided that he didn't want it.

"Yeah. I'd like that." Derek had gone back to sounding distant, almost transfixed, and Stiles couldn't help that he rolled his eyes before tugging Derek towards Isaac.

Derek seemed almost _giddy_ and Stiles snorted on a laugh.

"Don't get too excited. I'm not letting anything happen unless I know he's completely informed about what he's getting himself into," Stiles warned.

"Neither would I."

Which was all the confirmation Stiles needed. Neither of them were trying to make things more difficult for Isaac but if they could offer him new friends and someone to rely on, regardless of the whole werewolf thing, then Stiles would be happy.

Isaac looked up, obviously having seen them approach, but they were still out of talking distance. Stiles hummed and tilted his head to the side.

"I've always wanted puppies," he declared to no one in particular. Derek made an ugly noise that was definitely a half choked laugh and Stiles winked wickedly, just because he could. Derek rewarded him with a dry look but his smile diminished the effect somewhat. It made Stiles bouncy from happiness.

He had no idea what the future held but it was pretty obvious that staying with Derek would bring about quite a few changes and new possibilities. And Stiles didn't mind it one bit. He knew it would be interesting and unlike anything he could ever have imagined. A life with Derek was going to be great.

It wasn't just a new beginning – it was _their_ beginning.

And Stiles couldn't wait to see what was to come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going with the whole 'the alpha status can be inherited'-thing, yes, because that was probably what happened with Laura, even if that was from mother to daughter. So I almost did kill Derek there for a while, but I'm too much of a sucker for happy endings to make it permanent ;)
> 
> And yes, PUPPIES. Because I got so depressed when I realised that the baby betas weren't baby betas at all in this fic :(  
> But there is hope for the future! Derek and Stiles will go on an adoption spree. Because puppies.
> 
> Anyways! This is the last official chapter of this story and I hope that you've enjoyed the ride! I had so much fun writing this even if it sort of grew on me and became a lot bigger and more dramatic than I had planned. Still, it was a fun AU to explore and I loved writing all this cuteness.
> 
> There is still a bonus chapter in the works, which is basically a shortened version of the story from Derek's POV, if you want to find out what his thoughts were during this whole ordeal. I hope it will be done within a week or two so if you want to read it just keep the subscription for a while longer. If not I want to thank you for staying this long!
> 
> A massive thanks also goes to my beta, [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum), who was incredibly enthusiastic and supportive when it came to this fic, and I also want to thank [Ludde](http://tilttu.tumblr.com/) for being my test subject. His reactions while he read were AWESOME. 
> 
> You can find me over at my [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/) for more updates on coming fics etc. I hope you had a great time! :D


	13. Bonus Chapter 1 - The Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This here is the first of three bonus chapters telling the same story but from Derek's POV. Some scenes have been cut or shortened, others have been added, so you'll find some new things as we go along. These chapters should not be read separately.
> 
> I had planned to finish this much, much earlier and the reason I didn't was because it became 40 000 words instead of 10 000. So yeah, I'm basically trying to apologise for my tardiness by giving you more to read xD 
> 
> The other two chapters will be up this week, on Wednesday and Friday respectively. It's a lot of words. But have fun! :D

 

* * *

 

Derek told himself not to feel guilty. It was the boy's fault for barging in uninvited. Derek didn't have much choice besides chasing him away, by any means necessary. He knew that people like that kid – regular people, probably a college student judging on the distinct scents on his clothes and backpack – wouldn't react kindly to Derek's transformed face. Werewolves didn't exist to them.

He still felt bad.

Derek had been angry, sure, because he didn't like anyone invading his privacy and territory but he didn't exactly derive any kind of pleasure out of scaring someone who had no idea what they had stumbled upon. The kid had looked terrified. And it reminded Derek all too much about what he was and how he looked.

He had never considered it to be a curse to be a werewolf – he never would – but he couldn't deny that he hated the situation he was in. Five years. He had been unable to control his wolf for five years, ever since Laura died and Peter sought him out shortly after, demanding his obedience. Derek had refused and was still paying the price.

It wasn't that he couldn't feel his wolf. No, it was still there, churning under the surface, snarling and snapping – never content – but it didn't _listen_. And Derek couldn't decipher what it was trying to tell him anymore. It was like they were suddenly speaking two different languages. It was frustrating. It made him angry, but unlike before the anger didn't help. It felt like screaming into a void and not getting a reply. It made him lose hope.

The reminder that he couldn't, under no circumstances, allow himself to be seen didn't help. And he couldn't forget about his uninvited visitor either. The boy's backpack saw to that.

Derek didn't even touch it the first day. He tried to ignore it – it wasn't his or any of his business – but the scent followed him everywhere. It permeated the air and made it impossible to focus on anything else. The smell itself wasn't that special, but it was new and misplaced in Derek's usually uneventful existence.

On the second day he managed to convince himself that since the owner was unlikely to return – considering the scare Derek had given him – it wouldn't hurt to look inside the backpack. His suspicion of the kid being a college student was confirmed as he flipped through the papers and books inside. So perhaps not quite a kid but still very young.

'Stiles Stilinski' was written on the notebook containing some kind of observations for a biology assignment and while Derek had no idea what the hell a 'stiles' was he assumed that it had been taken on as some kind of nickname. No one could possibly name their child Stiles Stilinski.

It seemed like the kid had been in the middle of some kind of excursion when the rain must have forced him to head for shelter. Not that Derek understood how he could have gotten lost enough to end up at Derek's house. The kid seemed to be an odd one.

Derek scanned the pages, reading the barely legible writing and momentarily considered adding the last couple of details still missing. He knew them by heart after having lived in these woods most of his life and the curious, inquisitive phase he had gone through when he was around ten. But he realized how stupid that would be and quickly snapped the notebook shut and shoved it back into the backpack. It wasn't like anyone would benefit from it anyway.

Derek couldn't help bringing one of the biology books with him back to his room though. It hadn't been his best subject in school but he had liked it to a certain degree – at least when he got to look deeper at the local flora and fauna.

Besides, some variety in his reading was welcome.

Derek tried to deny that he was intrigued by the well-used, worn backpack. It stayed there, on the armchair still smelling vaguely of the kid, but Derek couldn't even convince himself. It was something new. Derek had been shuffling through the same motions and routines for years now but this broke pattern. A bright flare of color and impressions in his otherwise dreary, cold world.

He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be surprised that the kid returned a couple of days later.

Derek tensed the moment he heard the hesitant footsteps echo through the house, and for some reason found himself feeling conflicted and almost _nervous_. A part of him wanted to be left alone – the majority, the one that knew that he would just have to chase the boy off again – but a fierce, resilient part of him was excited. The boy was either stupid or brave enough to come back to a house he knew was dangerous. Perhaps it was a little bit of both. It was intriguing.

Derek blamed his curiosity on his lack of entertainment.

The kid's heartbeat was thumping in a quick, fluttering rhythm and Derek didn't even have to make an effort to smell the fear in the air. Good. At least the boy wasn't a complete idiot even if he seemed to suffer from a severe lack self-preservation instincts.

Derek knew that he shouldn't have moved. It was obvious that the kid was just there to collect his backpack but Derek couldn't help drawing closer to the door, compelled by the scent he had only felt whispers of these past days. Now it was everywhere, thick and strangely comforting – familiar. Derek had gotten used to it. He craved it. Not because he liked it – or so he told himself – but because it was the only interruption to his boring life he had experienced in months. Possibly years.

The kid froze and turned to look at Derek. He shouldn't have moved.

"Uh... hi. I just came to get my-... uh... backpack." The voice trembled. It was enough to snap Derek back to reality – to remind him of how dangerous it was to have anyone this close. He couldn't risk anyone finding out about him.

The growl had the desirable effect, making the frightened boy stumble back with a flail, almost tripping over a side table. Derek took a step closer. The hair at the back of his neck suddenly stood on end though when he saw the boy shove his hand into his pocket. Derek reacted instantaneously to what he knew was threat, charging forward with a snarl.

The plastic cracked when Derek's fingers closed around what he quickly identified as a Taser – not the worst weapon imaginable to use against him but certainly effective – his other palm slamming against the wall next to the kid's head. Derek acted on instinct but he couldn't exactly blame the poor boy for wanting to protect himself. Too bad he was facing something his limited worldview couldn't explain.

The kid jumped, staring at Derek with wide, frightened eyes. Derek's wolf was growling at the back of his head but Derek could still hear the loud, panicked thumps beating inside the kid's ribcage. He looked absolutely terrified. With right, Derek assumed.

He shouldn't have shown his face. He knew that. But instincts were hard to fight and a threat was a threat. Derek could see the incomprehension and disbelief grow on the kid's face when he slowly took in Derek's features. Derek waited for him to run. They always did.

Everyone but this one.

"Wow."

It stunned Derek. He could admit that. It wasn't the reaction he had expected and he growled louder as a result, both to hide his own confusion and urge the kid to run. They were supposed to flee from predators like Derek.

"Just... wow."

This was not how things were supposed to go. Derek had no idea what was going on. Perhaps that was why he flinched when he felt the first brush of fingers against his chin. No one had touched him in years. Not like this. In soft, curious wonder like he was actually more than just a nightmarish monster.

Derek recoiled backwards, out of reach. It scared him.

"Whoa! No, it's okay!" The kid raised his hands for a moment before wincing and throwing the broken Taser aside. His brown eyes were wide and earnest when he looked back at Derek. It almost made Derek relax, against better knowledge. "It's fine. Sorry. I just-... what are you?"

Derek had no intention of answering that. He backed away when the kid tried to come closer.

"Okay... then, what's your name?" the kid asked instead. Derek kept quiet, warily eyeing the boy he suddenly had no idea how to handle.

They were supposed to run. Why didn't the kid run? Derek could smell his fear.

"Come on. I've seen your books. I know you understand English. Just tell me your name," the kid persisted, smiling in a disarmingly friendly fashion. Derek shook his head with a frown.

"No. You leave."

Derek nearly grimaced at the sound of his own voice. Not only was it rough from disuse but vibrated with the underlying growl of his wolf. He couldn't control it.

"He speaks! Well, like Tarzan but still." Derek allowed the kid one step forward, if only because he told himself that there was no immediate danger in doing so. "Me Stiles. You...?"

Derek scoffed. He might be a werewolf and a monster in some people's eyes but he wasn't an idiot.

"My name is Derek."

The grin he was rewarded with was brilliant and delighted. Derek didn't know what he had done to make the kid look so happy.

"Derek? Awesome. I'm Stiles."

Derek had already guessed as much but knew better than to inform the kid of that. He shouldn't be there. He was clearly just there for his backpack and Derek couldn't figure out why he would linger. Derek's face usually scared people.

"Fine. Now leave," Derek rumbled before heading for his room. It wasn't easy to turn his back on someone he didn't trust but he didn't want to prolong this conversation. It made him uneasy. This kid wasn't playing by the same rules as everyone else. He was breaking pattern. Derek didn't like that.

"Hey, wait! You can't just expect me-"

Derek whirled around and the kid choked on his words when he ran into Derek's open palm, making him come to a sudden halt. Derek could feel the flutter of that beating heart against his fingers but he tried to ignore it. He was careful to keep his claws from digging into fabric and skin.

"Take your backpack and leave." Derek didn't have time for this.

The kid wet his lips. Thoroughly distracting.

"No."

Derek made no attempt to hold back his own frustration when he turned to growl at the stupid, infuriating kid.

"Leave." Derek pointed towards the door but the kid didn't move. He was scared – Derek had no trouble picking up on that – but he didn't leave. Derek couldn't for the life of him understand why. People usually shied away from the transformed werewolf faces. This boy seemed to have forgotten about it already.

"Are you a werewolf?" The question was clearly blurted out without much thought but it still struck a nerve in Derek. It was too precise. The kid could be dangerous.

Derek pulled his hand back and tried to retreat again, the kid just two steps behind him.

"What? Really? You are? That's so cool! But isn't that supposed to be a full moon gig?"

How could one person ask so many questions?

"You look pretty transformed to me and really, while it's quite impressive I can't exactly see any benefits to-"

Derek gave a wordless snarl just to shut him up. It seemed to work, at least momentarily. But Derek had no idea what to do about this situation. He couldn't get rid of the boy. Derek didn't want him there. It made him feel haunted and cornered.

It wasn't made any easier when the kid spotted the book Derek had technically stolen and protested loudly. Derek felt a little stupid but he hadn't expected anyone to come back and claim it or the backpack. He knew better than to try and keep it though. It wasn't his. Despite his reluctance towards his intruder he had no intention of being that rude.

So he picked it up and tried to hand it over. It surprised him when he wasn't allowed to return it, the boy pushing it back towards Derek.

"Nah, it's okay. You can keep it." He had apparently changed his mind.

Derek frowned.

"As a gift, you know?" the kid continued casually.

Derek wasn't used to receiving gifts. He had half a mind to argue against it but the kid pushed until the book was pressed against Derek's chest.

"Keep it." The smile accompanying the words was warm and kind. For a brief second – one sudden, unexpected moment – Derek heard their hearts beat in painfully perfect harmony. He sucked in a breath. The boy's eyes were bright when their gazes locked. Derek hesitated.

The moment passed.

Derek backed away, just to be one the safe side, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"... thanks." It was the best he could manage. The kid grinned.

Derek couldn't let this continue. He didn't know what was going on but it was disrupting more than just his carefully constructed life. Something inside Derek was awakening and he couldn't let it. After years of getting used to the isolation and loneliness he couldn't let himself slip. The kid – Stiles – wouldn't stay. Derek couldn't delude himself that he would.

So he tried to push him away. He tried to make the kid leave. It took several attempts but he managed eventually. Strangely enough Derek didn't exactly feel pleased when he watched the kid go. But he told himself that it was for the best. Even if there was less panic than Derek had anticipated it was too dangerous to let anyone close – for the both of them. It was better this way.

Derek smothered the small, desperate part of him that wanted to object. Derek managed fine on his own. He always had.

But it proved more difficult than planned to shut the kid out. Derek forced himself not to use the boy's name. It would become too real if he did. He couldn't put a name to the face – that stupid, hopeful face that stared back at him from the other side of the narrow gap in the door. Derek knew better than to let the kid in but still found himself backing up, allowing him to step inside the foyer.

Derek told himself that it was because he was hungry, nothing else.

That didn't explain why Derek put up with all the questions. It didn't help him make sense of why he didn't throw the kid out head first. He should have. This could never last. Derek didn't want to be anyone's pet project and he didn't want pity. He shouldn't be telling the kid about werewolves and revealing that Derek was stuck in his transformation. It was none of the kid's business. The sandwich was good though. And he might secretly be reveling in the scents the kid brought with him.

Mostly he liked the kid's own. It was the one he had grown accustomed to and it was nice to have the source right there, intense and overpowering, until Derek was able to relax, at least a little. Perhaps that was why he answered the questions. Or perhaps it was the books.

Derek could admit that he liked the books. He had every intention of giving them back – he wasn't a charity case – but he was going to enjoy them while he could. Books were sometimes hard to come by, mostly because he had to be careful whenever he went on supply runs in town and prioritize food, clothes and other necessities. Books were just for entertainment and he wasn't sure if he really deserved them anyway.

But the kid brought him some. They smelled of him too. Derek had no intention of ever admitting just how comforting he thought that was. It was like holding a small piece of the outside world in his hands. A small piece of freedom – freedom Derek didn't have. Freedom he shouldn't long for.

The kid would be the death of him.

Derek couldn't allow that. He couldn't allow this to keep happening. So he told the kid to stay away. Threatened him. Told him he would kill him even if he never would. He lied. Derek didn't need a friend – there was no room for friends in his life. Peter's presence, no matter how distant, was still hanging over him like a menacing shadow and he couldn't allow anyone to stumble into that mess. Especially not an enthusiastic, annoying college kid with stupidly bright eyes and a beaming, heartfelt smile. Derek would never forgive himself.

He pushed and shoved, growling until his point was driven home. The kid still looked defiant. He claimed that he would be back in a couple of days, taking no heed of Derek's death threats. The boy was bold. Fierce. _Brilliant_. For the first time in years Derek could hear his wolf, clear as a bell, purring in his ear. For the first time in years Derek understood what his wolf wanted and it scared him more than Peter ever could.

He pushed the kid away. There wasn't anything else he _could_ do. His wolf be damned.

Derek was _not_ disappointed when the kid didn't show up when he had said that he would. It meant that Derek got what he wanted. It was better for the kid if he stayed away. Besides, Derek knew it had just been empty words. The kid had no reason to return. Not when Derek had threatened to hurt him. Not even this particular idiot was that stupid.

It didn't hurt. There was no reason for it to hurt. _It didn't hurt_.

Derek ignored his restlessly pacing wolf, once again out of his reach. He couldn't understand what it wanted. But it was just as well. Derek didn't want to hear it. He spent his days reading, his fingers wandering over pages carrying a scent he would do well to forget. The boy wasn't coming back. Derek had scared him off.

He wasn't coming back.

Derek had convinced himself of that, to the point where he didn't know what to do when he finally heard the squeaks and hum of a car pulling up in front of the house. He barely believed it, his fingers clenching around the book in his lap. He waited, breathless, when he heard the approaching footsteps – could smell that scent drift through the air – and never before had he felt such conflicting emotions clash within him.

Happiness and anger. Frustration and exhilaration. Fear and hope. He couldn't decide on one and as such he couldn't decide on a course of action either. He remained where he was, tucked away in his room, waiting to hear what the kid did.

To Derek's surprise nothing happened. The footsteps stopped before they reached the door and he tilted his head to the side in confusion. The kid was still there, that much was obvious, but he remained on the porch. Derek frowned when he felt the salty tang to the scent he already knew depressingly well. He couldn't quite pinpoint it. Not until he heard the first sob.

Sorrow.

Derek froze. The kid – Stiles – was crying. The sobs were choked and weak, as if the kid did his best to suppress them, but he was definitely crying. On Derek's doorstep. What was he supposed to do about that, if anything at all? Derek was out of his depth. He was supposed to be angry at the kid and chase him away but those heartbreaking gasps and croaking sobs made Derek uncomfortable. His mother hadn't raised him to antagonize someone who was clearly in mourning.

In a show of embarrassing cowardice Derek did nothing at all. Perhaps the boy would leave on his own. Minutes passed. Derek tried to continue reading but it was impossible to ignore the soft, painful sounds coming from the boy on his doorstep. He could hear every nuance – every little hitch in the kid's breath and the quivering of his heart. It was torture.

Derek didn't consider himself to be a very compassionate being. He lacked the constitution to empathize with those around him in a satisfactory manner and usually stayed away from situations where he would have to offer care and comfort. It wasn't his forte. So he had no idea what to do now.

He started pacing, his book forgotten while he tried to shut out the sound of suffering and smell of grief coming from the kid. It didn't work. It got under Derek's skin and while an appropriate reaction for someone like him would have been to get angry he just felt hopeless. Useless. _Worried_.

He couldn't say what it was that finally made him snap. It could have been the soft, agonizing whine the kid let out or the sudden understanding that it wasn't going to get better on its own. Derek knew that from experience. He had to do _something_.

It still made him feel awkward and out of place when he carefully opened the front door, seeing the kid's hunched shoulders and bent back – as if he was trying to curl in on himself and disappear completely. Something was really wrong.

Derek eased closer, knowing that the kid had already heard him. It was obvious on how he straightened a little with a choked sound, his movements stiff and halting.

"I'm sorry... I'm leaving." The kid sounded heartbroken, his voice cracking. "I just didn't feel up to driving back just yet."

Derek reached out, his fingers brushing against the kid's shoulder, but he pulled back as soon as he saw the boy recoil. It was an understandable reaction and Derek felt stupid and guilty. He shouldn't have done that. He didn't want to make things worse.

"No, no, hey. It's okay," the boy croaked, trying to smooth things over. But Derek heard the tremble in his voice and saw the quick glance towards Derek's hands. "You just scared me, is all."

Derek had no trouble believing that, his fingers clenching to hide his claws from sight. They probably were quite terrifying. So he wouldn't do that again. He wouldn't try to touch the kid again.

Derek still held out the roll of toilet paper he had brought. It was the best he could do but the kid seemed to appreciate it. Surprisingly much actually.

"You are too adorable for words sometimes, do you know that?" he said, after a sobbing laugh.

Derek tried to feel insulted – he wasn't cute in any aspect of his life or person – but he couldn't deny that it made something unfurl in his chest when he saw the kid's expression brighten, if only a little. The hunched shoulders were still shaking and those wide eyes were red from crying but Derek's interruption seemed to have offered some kind of reprieve.

The kid blew his nose and grimaced while wiping away the tears. After some hesitation Derek sat down on the step next to the kid. Stiles. He sat down next to Stiles. Not close per se but still closer than he would under any other circumstances. Derek still didn't know what to do. He didn't even know what was wrong or why the kid had decided to come there of all places.

"I'm really sorry," Stiles apologized again, "I didn't plan to come here. It just... sort of happened."

That didn't offer much in terms of explanations and Derek faltered when he tried to phrase a question that would somehow ask for a clarification without sounding too rude. Derek didn't want to make things worse. In the end he just shut his mouth again. He was really bad at this.

"My mom died," Stiles said all of a sudden, without any kind of prompting. Derek couldn't help looking up, both surprised and a little appalled. He was definitely not equipped to deal with that. He could barely even handle his _own_ family's death. Trying to make someone _else_ feel better was definitely not within his reach. The kid smiled sadly.

"Years ago, don't worry... but it still... _hurts_ , you know? Like a hole I can't seem to fill or get rid of. Like an ache that just won't stop." Stiles paused to take a deep breath. "I miss her. So much. And today is just worse because it's impossible not to think about her, not remember her. It was years ago but it happened today. It feels like it happened today."

Derek could feel the kid's gaze on him. Heard the question in those words and Derek wasn't sure what to do. Stiles didn't know about Derek's family but the words he spoke were still something Derek could relate to. He knew that feeling all too well.

"I just miss her, you know?"

Derek nodded. There wasn't much he could say, but he knew. He understood.

Stiles fidgeted, running a hand through already tousled hair, while Derek kept his gaze lowered. He was so bad at this.

"I think that I kind of lied, back there..." Stiles admitted quietly. Derek felt a sting of dread, looking up, perhaps a little too sharply.

"About you needing a friend." The smile on Stiles' lips was both apologetic and somewhat amused. "Well, no, I wasn't lying about _that_ exactly – I do think that you need one. But you're not the only one." A slight pause, Stiles' big, brown eyes locking with Derek's. "I think that I might need one too."

The implications were clear – Stiles wanted Derek to be that friend. Derek was man enough to admit that he panicked, if only briefly. That was a very big responsibility and Derek knew that he wasn't nearly good enough to shoulder it. He'd fail spectacularly. But there was something in Stiles' gaze that gave him pause – something that made him hesitate before he outright refused what was obviously some kind of plea for companionship.

Derek wasn't meant to handle those kinds of things, never had been. But when he looked into those stupid, big brown eyes he realized that he wanted to try. Perhaps it was his own loneliness making itself known, perhaps it was the barely audible hum of approval from his wolf or perhaps it was just Stiles, through and through, but Derek felt a need to at least try.

Neither of them _wanted_ to be lonely after all and Derek had it within his power to change that. For the first time in ages he actually had the power to do something – to do some good. The feeling blooming in his chest was strangely reminiscent of pride.

He got to his feet and glanced over his shoulder, determined to do something about this, no matter how small or temporary.

"You can come inside," he offered quietly, when he noticed that Stiles made no move to follow. The kid looked up, surprised, and Derek felt embarrassingly awkward, avoiding Stiles' gaze.

"You sure?"

Derek nodded, glad that he didn't have to speak. He wouldn't know what to say anyway. Which was why he soon turned and headed inside again, distantly hearing Stiles get up from the porch steps.

"Thanks..."

It was nothing but a soft, frail whisper but Derek heard it – felt it slide along his spine like a grateful, sweet caress. It made him want to smile. He didn't though and instead made sure to help ease Stiles' distress in whatever way he could. It wasn't much but his wolf was growling in approval throughout it all – especially when Derek's choice of reading material managed to lure a snicker out of the kid. Derek's wolf was pleased with his efforts.

Stiles didn't look too bad either, bundled up in the blanket with a soft smile on his lips. The pain in his eyes wasn't gone – Derek didn't delude himself about that because he knew from personal experience that it would never, ever disappear completely – but it seemed like it was okay for the time being. Manageable. Stiles was okay.

Derek felt a knot in his chest ease and he allowed himself to focus on his book instead. Stiles' book. The pages still smelled of him, even if Derek had to admit that it was nothing compared to the source, seated just a couple of feet away.

He was still worried about what a thoroughly bad idea this was – Peter was still out there somewhere and Derek wasn't exactly the best candidate when you wanted company – but for now, at least for a little while, he could revel in the feeling of having someone else there. Of hearing Stiles' soft breaths and the rhythm of his beating heart. It was more calming than Derek thought that it would be.

He decided to treasure it.

It was stupid but Derek allowed Stiles to come back. Time and time again. After two weeks he stopped trying to tell himself that he didn't want it. Everything became so much brighter when Stiles was there and Derek secretly enjoyed not having to be so alone.

Not that he ever told Stiles that or even listened to him every time he started babbling, but it was nice to have another presence in the house besides the oppressive gloom that always seem to follow him around. Stiles made Derek forget about it, at least momentarily. Once again the books helped, so did the food and little by little it became habit. Routine. And Derek liked it.

He started looking forward to Stiles' visits and even began offering tidbits of facts whenever Stiles asked about Derek or werewolves. Never too much or anything that could outright be used to harm him, but small things that seemed to make Stiles giddy with excitement. Derek loved to watch his eyes light up whenever he was told something that fascinated him. It made Derek feel proud to be able to put that look on his face. Even more so when Stiles smiled. Stiles had a really nice smile.

Derek had forgotten what it felt like to actually make someone feel good, as opposed to the constant disappointment he had been to Laura. Derek couldn't help staring whenever Stiles smiled, especially when he knew that _he_ was the reason for it. Derek felt equal parts silly and breathless, the latter usually winning out considering that it was strengthened by the rumbling from his wolf. It liked Stiles' smiles too.

Derek tried to dislike Stiles – he really did. Being grumpy and irritable was a good was to cover up any actual fondness he felt towards the flailing college kid, but it got harder and harder to pretend that he didn't enjoy their time together. Stiles was just so bright – like a brilliant, burning star – and Derek was drawn to it against better knowledge. It was stupid. Idiotic even. But he couldn't help it. He had been alone for so long and Stiles had such a big heart. After two months of Stiles' frequent visits Derek was beginning to feel the aching hollowness in his chest fill with something he could only describe as happiness. He hadn't felt that in a long time and it was all because of Stiles.

Who even brought hot chocolate and cookies. Derek didn't even care that he wasn't overly fond of sweet things – the gesture alone spoke volumes and he felt special whenever Stiles showed that he thought about him, even when he wasn't in Derek's immediate presence. Perhaps that was why Derek was a little more relaxed than usual – why he was not as prepared to snap to attention as soon as Stiles moved – and it proved to be nearly disastrous.

Derek had learned that Stiles wasn't offended by his touch by then, like he had thought that time back when Stiles had been crying on his porch. Stiles actually seemed pretty interested in touching Derek and to be touched in return. Perhaps a little _too_ much, in all honesty, but Derek wasn't going to mention it out loud. He could pretend that he didn't feel the bite and sizzle of attraction in the air.

Still, he learned that touching was quite alright as long as he was careful. He still didn't want to hurt Stiles and since Derek had no idea how volatile his wolf could get if cornered – because he hadn't really interacted with anyone in years – he decided to be careful about it, only touching Stiles when absolutely necessary and preferably avoid getting surprised when Stiles tried to do the same. It was mean and Derek saw a flash of hurt every now and then before Stiles managed to cover up the disappointment of having Derek pull out of reach, but it was better that way. Safer, for Stiles.

That was why Derek choked on his breath when he felt Stiles' frail, dotted skin give under his claws, pricking through the fabric of the long sleeves like nothing. It had been a reflex, he only wanted to keep Stiles from dropping the mug of hot chocolate, but the sheer horror that settled in Derek's bones – cold and ruthless – was enough to make him let go, just as hastily.

Stiles confusion was obvious but it didn't even come close to Derek's surprise when Stiles was determined to follow him when he tried to pull back, in an effort to put Stiles in at least relative safety. Instead Stiles squeezed down on the couch next to Derek, a warm body pressed against his. For a moment he didn't know what to think, not until he heard Stiles' heartbeat, still thumping in the same rhythm as usual. Stiles wasn't upset.

"I'm not afraid," Stiles whispered, and Derek believed him. But that didn't mean that it wasn't dangerous. "I know you're being careful and I'm grateful for that but I'm not afraid. You don't have to worry about me. It's okay, Derek."

Careful, gentle fingers wandered over Derek's white knuckles. He hadn't even noticed that he had clenched his hands – apparently a reflex to keep his claws from causing any further harm. But it was difficult to remember that when Stiles thumb did a little swirl on the back of his hand and all he wanted to do was touch back. Derek told himself that he shivered because it tickled, nothing else.

Little by little Derek started to relax, his fingers unfurling, because withstanding Stiles' undivided attention wasn't something he was capable of, no matter how much he wished that he was. Curious fingertips followed the lines of Derek's fingers as soon as Stiles could reach and Derek looked down when Stiles flipped his hand over, placing his own palm against Derek's.

"See? Not so different after all." Stiles looked pleased and while his heart was definitely beating faster now Derek could tell the difference between fear and excitement. Stiles was happy. Holding Derek's hand made Stiles happy.

The realization hit him so hard it felt like someone had punched a gaping hole in the centre of Derek's chest.

Stiles' fingers shifted and Derek forced himself to breathe when their fingers entwined, Stiles' fingers warm against Derek's. Stiles wasn't afraid at all.

"I understand that you're dangerous – I stay away during full moons because you tell me to – but this?" Stiles indicated their hands. "It's totally fine. You won't hurt me. It's okay."

Hesitation seemed to creep into Stiles' gaze and Derek felt an instant flash of panic at the worrying blip in Stiles' heartbeat – the sharp tang of doubt and hurt in Stiles' scent.

"Well, unless it makes you uncomfortable of course. Then we should let go."

Derek clamped down harder than planned, keeping Stiles from moving away or letting go. Derek didn't want that.

"It's fine," Derek said, perhaps a little too hurriedly, but he could live with that since it made Stiles smile. Anything that made Stiles smile was alright.

Derek allowed himself to be swayed by Stiles' friendly shoulderbump.

"Then it's fine for me too."

There wasn't much Derek could reply to that. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. But when he looked up at Stiles that, right there, was the moment he decided that he would hold on for as long as he could. If it meant that he would get to have Stiles' fingers laced with his own and feel the weight of Stiles next to him, smell his scent and hear his tripping heartbeat, then Derek would do what he could to hold on.

Stiles was worth it.

Derek couldn't deny that he often wondered what Stiles was up to when he wasn't there. Every now and then he got the insane urge to follow, just to see where Stiles lived, where he went to school and what his life looked like. His real life. The one Derek had no part in. He held no illusions about that – Derek was just skirting the edges of Stiles' existence, lurking in the shadows like a secret, not involved in his everyday life. He wasn't upset though. He knew that was how it had to be.

Stiles had classes, a family and a roommate. At first Derek had thought the distinctly female scent that clung to Stiles indicated a girlfriend but somewhere during Stiles' incessant talking Derek had managed to pick up on enough about this Lydia to determine that she was just a friend. Not that it mattered. It was none of Derek's business if Stiles had a girlfriend or not. The looks Stiles kept giving Derek when he thought that Derek wouldn't notice – although he always did, if nothing else because of the scents of _longing_ and _want_ that accompanied them – didn't mean anything. And even if they did Derek knew better than to act on them.

He had nothing against Stiles, but he wasn't stupid enough to make that kind of mistake again. He didn't have much left to lose, granted, but Derek had learned his lesson with Kate. He wasn't going to make any hasty decisions without knowing of Stiles' intentions first. Not that there seemed to be much more behind Stiles' urges than just that. Urges. Stiles was attracted to him.

It had thrown Derek out of balance for a while since he couldn't figure you _why_ Stiles would be – not considering how Derek looked – but little by little he realized that it was just one thing amongst many that he would never be able to understand when it came to Stiles. So he let it be. It was easier to ignore than actually acknowledge what it could mean for their frail friendship. Derek wasn't prepared to risk whatever it was that he had with Stiles. It was more important than impulsive desire.

Derek still found himself unreasonably unsettled when Stiles didn't show up on Friday like he usually did. They didn't have a schedule exactly but Stiles often came on Fridays unless Lydia distracted him with something else. That could be what had happened this time and while Derek told himself that it was Stiles' right he felt a little disappointed. His wolf growled teasingly and to Derek's surprise he actually understood what it said, even if it was talking bullshit. Derek was _not_ pouting.

He was just worried and perhaps a little anxious because he was missing Stiles. There was an itch that could only be satisfied by the feel of Stiles' smooth skin under his fingertips and running his fingers through those soft locks of brown hair. Derek knew that he had gotten addicted to touching Stiles but he couldn't help it. Tracing moles was easily one of Derek's new favorite ways to pass time and Stiles never recoiled from it. If he did anything it was to lean in closer. Derek's wolf always rumbled in approval whenever that happened.

He wasn't sure why but his wolf had gotten more and more vocal over the past month, as if it was trying to catch Derek's attention. More often than not he didn't understand the hints it sent though and confusion always lingered between them until his wolf seemed to snarl in frustration and give up. Even as a cub Derek had had better control than this. It was stupid and annoying – not to mention embarrassing – and even if Derek knew that Peter was the cause it irked him that he couldn't seem to find a solution. It felt like it was right there, just out of reach, but no matter how often he tried to outright communicate with his wolf it made no difference. They seemed unable to cooperate. And his wolf wasn't forthcoming.

Well, at least until he heard the sound of Stiles' approaching Jeep on Saturday and the wolf rose to the surface with an excited yip, like an eager, energetic puppy.

Shit.

Derek had never held any illusion about being particularly clever, even if he wasn't stupid either. He was single-minded and stubborn if anything, which might have been why he hadn't even considered the possibility that the change had nothing to do with Derek or his wolf, but _Stiles_. He was what was different. The only times Derek could hear his wolf was when it reacted to Stiles' presence in one way or another.

It was mindboggling enough to make Derek stare blankly at the page he was supposed to be reading. He might or might not have been hoping for Stiles to come by, which was why he was seated on the couch instead of his own room, but now he felt everything but ready for Stiles' arrival.

Still, he couldn't help that he looked up the moment Stiles came within view, fighting an urge to smile. He had missed Stiles and Derek had a good enough poker face to hide the epiphany he had stumbled over if he had to. It didn't have to change anything. He just needed to figure out the depth of the attachment his wolf apparently felt for Stiles. No big deal.

All thoughts of that fled from his mind the moment Derek felt the fading sting of a scent he couldn't forget even if he wanted to. He reacted instinctively, succumbing to the rush of adrenaline that sparked within him, not even registering whatever Stiles was saying.

_Peter_.

Derek wasn't sure if it was his wolf or himself who took the initiative to back off but before he knew it he had put as much distance between himself and Stiles as he could. Stiles smelled of Peter. Derek could smell Peter on him.

A whirlwind of emotions engulfed him, bright flares of _fear_ and _confusion_ licking along his stiff spine. He had no idea what it meant. Peter wasn't supposed to be there and Stiles was definitely not supposed to smell of him. Why did Stiles smell of Peter? Derek's wolf whined and snarled, a litany of _angerpanichurtconfusiondangerBETRAYAL_ circling inside his head. Stiles was dangerous.

Derek didn't even know when he started growling. He felt the vibration in his chest and how it itched in his throat, and he crouched lower to face the threat. Stiles was a threat. Derek didn't want him to be – he saw the shock and fear on Stiles' face – but it could be an act. He smelled of Peter. Stiles could be in league with Peter.

He almost felt his ribcage give under the weight of those words. It could all just have been an act. A lie. This – Stiles' friendship, his warmth and care – could be Peter, tugging on the strings from behind the curtain. It was definitely something Peter would do. It could all be a lie.

Derek barely registered what happened next. His wolf took over. The _hurtpanicangerPAIN_ kept rising within him, suffocating and wild. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think. The wolf did. Derek was speaking – he was saying something even if he wasn't completely aware of what – and Stiles looked pained. He looked terrified. But so was Derek. Stiles and Peter. It couldn't be. He would rather die than have it come to that.

He didn't feel joy or relief when Stiles turned and fled. Derek didn't know what he had said but Stiles left, a spike of terror mingling with his usual scent. Derek had scared him. He could feel it in the air, in the lingering bite of tears Stiles had barely been able to hold back. Stiles had been terrified. Derek didn't know what to do. He had no idea what was happening.

_DangerpanicangerhurtBETRAYAL_.

Derek stumbled into his room, shutting himself in before sinking down to the floor with his back against the door. His wolf was trashing, vicious and snarling, wanting to hurt, tear, mangle and _kill_. Derek couldn't tell if it was Stiles or Peter it wanted. He couldn't decipher its howls. Derek didn't want any of it. He didn't want to hurt Stiles. But the mere thought of Stiles and Peter left him breathless, a pathetic whine escaping his throat. He had felt Peter's scent on Stiles.

He pulled up his knees, curling in on himself and buried his hands in his hair. He had no idea what to do and his wolf was running rampant. Derek didn't even try to calm it. He knew he wouldn't be able to. It didn't listen to him.

He just sat there, trying to breathe through the numbing panic and crushing weight on his shoulders while that word – that one agonizing word kept circling in his head together with his wolf's agonized howl.

_Betrayal_.

It was embarrassing how long it took for Derek to calm down, but at least it wasn't entirely his fault. His wolf just wouldn't stop snarling, even if Derek did his best to ignore it. It still kept him on edge. Wary. It wouldn't have been so difficult if Derek had actually understood what his wolf wanted but now that he didn't it was just a mangled chorus of _anger_.

Days passed in a blur that still managed to be agonizingly slow. Derek spent the majority of his time trying to shut everything out. It was cowardly, he knew that, but he had no idea to handle the new onslaught of doubts and pain he felt. Ever since Laura got murdered Peter had been a threat, hovering just outside of Derek's reach, keeping him on his toes. More than once Derek had wished that Peter would just kill him instead of submitting him to this slow torture, breeding an instinctual kind of paranoia Derek didn't know if he would ever get rid off. Not as long as Peter was still alive.

And somehow it still managed to get worse. Living out in the woods like an outcast was bad enough but the mere thought of Stiles – the one person Derek had allowed himself to feel an inkling of attachment to in years – might be on Peter's side made Derek want to curl up into a ball and just forget about the world entirely. He couldn't handle it.

So for the first couple of days he didn't acknowledge anything, slipping back into his routines with a numb kind of detachment. He did it all on autopilot, refusing to listen to his wolf or give in to the constant, niggling doubt. He shouldn't have scared Stiles. Derek had always been so careful not to. He didn't want to hurt him.

That slowly bled into full-blown, aching guilt and suffocating longing. He missed Stiles, even if he might be in league with Peter. Derek missed Stiles' smile, his laughter, his voice, his scent, his _everything_. But he tried to hold it back. It was too dangerous. Derek couldn't risk it.

Only, in the end he realized that he had to. He couldn't continue like this, walking around feeling nothing but regret. Derek was far too accustomed to that but it was different when the ones he needed to talk to – apologize to, really – were dead. Stiles wasn't. Derek still had a chance to set things right, or, alternatively, find out the truth. If Stiles had betrayed him he deserved an explanation.

It was chance really, that finally turned it around. Just a flicker of something white in the corner of his eye – a piece of paper – that smelled vaguely of Stiles. And Peter. He didn't want to touch it – he didn't want to know what it was – but his nerves got the better of him. Perhaps it would make him understand what was going on.

The fact that it turned out to be an article about Laura's murder felt like a particularly hard punch in his gut. The picture was old, a school photo from before the fire, and she looked so young. Derek missed her something terrible, even if he was glad that she would never get to see what he had become. How low he had sunk. He was pathetic.

He briefly scanned the article but it didn't give him anything he didn't already know. The police had talked to him during the investigation but at that time not even Derek had known that it was his own uncle who had killed her. That hadn't become apparent until later, when Peter came to force Derek to join his crusade against the Argents. Derek refused, not because he cared about the Argents, but because he knew that it wouldn't solve anything. It would only cause more suffering and possibly an all out war between werewolves and hunters.

Not to mention that he refused to work with the man who had murdered his sister, be he his uncle or not. Peter was clearly not in his right mind.

People had still died – minor players involved with the fire – but Derek had no idea how far Peter had gotten with his vendetta. Kate was the main target, but she had never returned to town as far as Derek knew. The sickening roll of guilt and disgust told him that was just as well. He never wanted to see her again.

The keening whine of his wolf brought Derek back to the present and the article still clutched in his hand. Stiles had brought it when he came over.

Derek frowned.

That made no sense. If Stiles was working with Peter then why bring something that could connect them, however loosely? Stiles was smarter than that. Or perhaps he had decided to come clean about it? Or perhaps Stiles wasn't connected to Peter at all?

The article had at some point been handled by his uncle, Derek could tell that much. But if it was before or after Stiles had had it was difficult to tell. Had Peter given it to Stiles? And if so, why? Peter was the one who had murdered Laura and even if Derek could easily be suspected of it once you knew about werewolves it made very little sense for Stiles to bring it. But Stiles had. Even if Derek hadn't paid attention to whatever Stiles had been saying when he came by last time it had been about the article.

Derek's wolf what whining, urging him to _act_. If only Derek knew what he could possibly do to solve the situation. Well, besides finding Stiles and asking him about it. But that was reckless and stupid since Derek knew better than to venture into town in broad daylight. Someone might see him.

Derek was definitely against the idea but his wolf howled in triumph. It confused him since he had thought that it was against Stiles – that its growling and snarling had been a sign to stay away – but that was clearly not the case. The lingering anger he had felt had to be meant for Peter then, not Stiles.

Derek took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he exhaled. His wolf was pushing at him, eager and excited – as always when it concerned Stiles somehow. Slowly but surely Derek could feel the tickle of his wolf strengthen, hear the hum between them solidify until it wasn't just a jumbled buzz. For once Derek took the time to slow down and just listen. His wolf's advice was simple – short and concise as it always tended to be – and when Derek's eyes snapped open he could feel it thrumming under his skin. His blood was singing, the power of his wolf surging through him, the connection stronger than it had been in years.

Derek knew what to do. His wolf told him what to do.

_Go to him_.

It was still not a plan that was easy to execute. Derek had to find suitable clothes that would hide the most apparent of his werewolf features and somehow locate Stiles in a town with literally thousands of other people. In all honesty though, that last bit wasn't nearly as difficult as it could have been. Derek found Stiles' scent easily, even if following it proved tedious, if only because it was such a long way to travel and Derek got antsy after the first fifteen minutes.

When he finally reached the bustling traffic of the city and had to slip into the throng of rushing people he felt disoriented and skittish. His wolf was growling from displeasure and paranoia – as if everyone around him were out to hurt them – but Derek tried to quell it. He just wasn't used to all the sounds and smells anymore. Even when he went on supply runs he made sure to do it in the dead of night when there were less people out and fewer impressions that could distract him.

He had none of that relief now.

He still found Stiles' apartment building soon enough and settled in for a long wait. He had no idea when Stiles' classes ended but was determined to stay until he could see him – even if it might only result in Stiles sending him away.

That was not the case.

When Stiles finally arrived Derek was twitchy from discomfort. It was almost embarrassing how his first reaction was to take a deep breath of Stiles' scent, feeling himself relax pretty much instantly. His second was to pull Stiles close and burrow his nose against his throat. That was, if possible, an even worse idea.

Not that Stiles seemed to think so. He seemed almost as eager as Derek to get closer. Neither of them did though. Both knew how frail things were between them – how Derek's hostility had opened up a wide rift they somehow needed to find a way to overcome. Derek had to remind himself that they might not even get that far, if it turned out that Stiles was working with Peter.

He held his tongue, however, opting for politeness rather than blurting out accusations in the middle of the street.

"We need to talk."

"No shit?" Despite his instinctive response Stiles looked surprised, and perhaps a little haunted. Derek had no idea how to interpret that, but took comfort in the fact that Stiles made a conscious effort to peer under the hood of Derek's sweatshirt and actually meet his gaze. That had to mean something. Stiles didn't look guilty.

"Come on, let's go inside."

The slight tug on Derek's sleeve was a sad substitute of what he knew would under normal circumstances be them lacing their fingers together. He hadn't even been aware of how casually they touched until they weren't anymore. Derek missed it enough for it to be a physical ache by then. Just a little over a week had passed and he was already feeling maudlin.

Derek allowed Stiles to lead the way and he vowed to himself, as they made their way up the stairs to Stiles' floor, that if he could he would fix this. If Stiles was innocent he was going to fix this somehow, no matter what it took.

Stiles was worth it.

Talking to Stiles was still excruciating, but not for the reason Derek had feared. Stiles was definitely not working with Peter. Not only could Derek detect obvious lies but Stiles was heartfelt and confused in a way that supported his claim of innocence. He had no idea who Peter was.

No, what made it so difficult was the fact that Derek had to reveal things about himself and his family that he would rather not talk about. It was necessary though, he could see that much on Stiles' expression – Stiles wouldn't stand for evasive replies and silences. Not this time. So Derek told him as much as he dared. He was still too disgusted with himself to even mention Kate, but it didn't seem entirely appropriate either, considering the circumstances.

Stiles took the news fairly well – probably because he had already known about certain details – and Derek was secretly relieved to notice that Stiles didn't seem to pity him. Derek hated pity.

They still ended up arguing though, over Stiles' safety. When it was confirmed that Stiles had no connection to Peter it became all the more obvious that he was in danger and Derek didn't quite know how to handle that. Stiles could be used as a pawn in Peter's game – he already had considering the business with the article – and it frightened Derek something terrible.

Stiles apparently didn't see it that way. Stiles didn't want to be safe – Stiles wanted to be with Derek. He couldn't deny that hearing that implication made Derek's entire being hum from pride and pleasure. His wolf was howling in agreement.

It might have been one of the reasons that Derek found himself relenting, or perhaps that was solely because he could finally touch Stiles again. He didn't smell of Peter anymore but neither did he smell of Derek. They had been apart for so long that his scent had faded from Stiles' skin, and that was more upsetting than Derek wanted to admit. He had gotten used to that small claim – that he was somehow important enough to Stiles for a part of him to be with him at all times.

So he allowed the touching – reveled in it even – because it made something tight in Derek's chest loosen when he felt their scents intermingle again. Like they were supposed to. His wolf was purring inside his head and Derek figured that his excursion could be considered an overall success.

He could accept the compromise of Stiles being allowed to come by the house as long as he was careful – it wasn't like Derek actually wanted him to stay away – if it meant that he could keep Stiles close like this. Granted that the brief interruption by Stiles' roommate had thrown Derek off balance for a while but when they ended up in Stiles' room, his arms wrapped around Stiles' waist and his nose buried in Stiles' hair, he couldn't deny that this was probably everything he could ever want in life.

Derek had few goals and even fewer dreams but this – Stiles and his warmth – was something Derek dared to cling to. It was something he dared to admit that he needed – something he craved. It wasn't perfect, not quite, but Derek had never been one for perfection. He just wanted Stiles. He wanted to take care of and shelter Stiles, his wolf rumbling its assent. Stiles was precious. Stiles was worth it. Stiles was everything Derek needed.

And he was right there, in Derek's arms. No wonder Derek's chest was nearly bursting from happiness.

Derek could admit that he was tense at first. A couple of days was clearly not enough for the situation with Peter to settle and Derek jumped at every shadow and foreign sound. Stiles hated it. But Derek got better when Stiles curled up next to him, within easy reach. Well, part of it was that it made it easier to protect him and a part of it was that Derek loved having him that close. He wasn't even fooling himself by then – he liked Stiles a lot more than he should.

He still didn't act on it, knowing better, but he found great pleasure in having Stiles snuggled close, reading aloud to him. Derek could admit that he didn't listen to the words as much as he listened to Stiles' voice, hypnotized by its melody and timbre.

Stiles seemed to like it too, if the scents filling the room was anything to go by. It was mildly distracting but still comforting somehow. Stiles wanted him. It felt nice to be wanted.

Derek made sure that Stiles made it home okay that evening, following him as far as the town border, just to make sure. He didn't tell Stiles of course since Derek had a feeling that he would disapprove, but it calmed his wolf's pathetic whining and that was incentive enough.

Stiles came back the very next day with a pizza in hand and Derek knew right away that he was bringing bad news. If the treat itself wasn't a big enough clue Stiles' mannerism was. He was fidgeting with his hands even if the rest of his body was tense and his gaze never lingering on Derek if he could help it. Derek's unease was like a bad taste at the back of his mouth but he still managed to enjoy the pizza, perhaps because he hadn't had one in ages.

When Stiles cleared his throat it was obvious that he was gathering his courage to drop whatever bomb he had been carrying since he got there. Derek braced himself for it.

"So... um, Christmas is coming up soon..." Stiles paused, avoiding Derek's gaze, "and some friends from high school will be coming over before that."

Derek felt his heart sink. It was stupid and his wolf had no right to growl in possessive frustration. Stiles wasn't his. Stiles had other friends – real friends – and he had a father to return to. Of course he couldn't stay with Derek. He hadn't even allowed himself to hope for something like that, but it still hurt.

"When?" Derek heard himself ask. How much more time did he have? Whatever the answer would be he knew that his wolf would consider it to be too little.

"On Sunday. And we'll be heading back to Beacon Hills together at the end of next week."

Derek made an effort to keep breathing. That wasn't long at all. He swallowed, reaching out a tentative hand to brush his fingers against Stiles'. He'd be gone soon. Just one more day and he'd be gone. Derek's chest might as well have caved in on itself.

"But you'll be back? After Christmas?" He had to ask. He sounded pathetic but he had to ask. It was over two weeks before they would see each other again and that was a long time. Perhaps Stiles would change his mind? Perhaps seeing his real friends would make Stiles realize just how strange their relationship was? He might not come back. Derek wanted him to, by _God_ he wanted him to, but he was too insecure to do anything but ask. He had no right to place any demands.

The feel of Stiles entwining their fingers eased some of the pressure in Derek's chest. A soft, reassuring squeeze made his wolf whine.

"Of course I will. I'll come back as soon as I can." It was clearly a promise – one Stiles was definitely honest about – and Derek dared to suck in a small breath.

Stiles was coming back. Derek had to trust him. His wolf already did, considering how it purred inside Derek's head, urging him not to let go of Stiles' hand, no matter what. It was getting easier and easier to hear his wolf now and Stiles' touch only seemed to amplify it. That, if anything, offered a kind of clarity that Derek hadn't felt in a long time.

He trusted Stiles not to abandon him. Stiles wouldn't turn on Derek like Kate had. Stiles would never do anything to intentionally hurt Derek. It was almost embarrassing how Derek had never realized that before, considering the impact it actually had. He trusted Stiles.

Before he had time to change his mind Derek rose from the couch, pulling Stiles along with him. He had no reason to keep Stiles out. Stiles was welcome. He was safety. So Derek lead him towards his room, feeling quite excited about the whole thing, and that was proof enough that he was making the right choice.

Stiles looked surprised though and even hesitated on the threshold, which in turn made Derek feel uncertain and self-conscious. What if Stiles didn't _want_ to come with him?

"It's-... warmer and I thought-" Derek stopped before he could embarrass himself further, getting ready to release Stiles' hand and return to the couch.

Suddenly Stiles was just there, in Derek's personal space, his arms wrapping around Derek's neck. It took Derek by surprise but the smell of Stiles and the warmth of his body made him relax soon enough. He returned the hug, incapable of denying both Stiles and himself the sheer pleasure of it. Derek had never been one for hugs before but he was willing to make an exception for Stiles.

A shiver travelled down Derek's spine when he felt Stiles' lips brush against his ear, his wolf trembling together with Derek.

"Thank you," Stiles mumbled softly, "it's definitely warmer."

And there, right in that moment, it happened again.

Derek hummed when he heard their hearts beat in unison, Stiles' tripping over half a one to match Derek's in perfect harmony. He could feel Stiles almost melting against him – smell the want and yearning – but Derek didn't want to act on it, not yet. Not before he had time to truly appreciate it. His wolf urged him to take, possess and claim but Derek had patience. He knew to be careful and he had no intention to rush this, whatever it was. He still needed to make sure. Both of them had to be sure.

So for now he did nothing besides holding Stiles close, their hearts separated by layers of clothes, skin, muscle and bone, but still right next to each other. Even when the moment passed and Stiles' heartbeat rushed ahead, energetic and untamed – just like its owner – Derek still felt the calm linger. And he was going to do everything within his power to keep it.

When Derek felt the weight of Stiles' head settle on his shoulder he could admit that he had no idea what to do. He froze completely, not because of the contact itself – Stiles was pretty much in his lap already – but because Stiles was obviously asleep. He had fallen asleep. That had never happened before.

Stiles always went home in the evenings and while Derek knew that it would be an easy matter to shake Stiles awake and tell him to go home and sleep there was not a single part of him that wanted to. He quite enjoyed having Stiles there, asleep and slumped against him.

Derek's wolf was rumbling, clearly pleased to note that Stiles felt safe enough to sleep in their presence, trusting them to protect him if needed. Derek would have shaken his head at his wolf's instincts if they hadn't also been _Derek's_ instincts. He felt just as pleased as his wolf did.

Stiles' book was open in his lap, his fingers barely gripping the cover, lax in sleep. Derek liked Stiles' hands. They were fluent, expressive and surprisingly gentle, but still not fragile. Derek loved to watch Stiles' fingers move and luckily enough for him they most often were. Stiles had a hard time being still sometimes, but not now.

He was leaning against Derek, his expression soft and unguarded, his entire being relaxed and at ease. Stiles seemed content. He seemed to like sleeping with his head pillowed on Derek's shoulder.

Derek tried to stop it but couldn't. The warm buzz growing in his chest made his body hum and before he knew it he was smiling. He liked it too. He liked having Stiles close and he liked knowing that Stiles was comfortable in his presence. Derek spent several minutes just reveling in it – the sound of Stiles' heartbeats, his soft, even breaths and the warmth they shared.

Derek turned his head, burying his nose in Stiles' hair. He smelled so good. Derek didn't think that he would ever get enough of it. He didn't think that he would ever want anyone as much as he wanted Stiles, not again, not after Kate. It might have been romantic nonsense – Derek knew that – but he couldn't help it. Stiles made everything seem so much better and Derek's wolf seemed to be in complete agreement.

He carefully shut his book, content to sit there in silence for a while. It wasn't like it was true silence anyway, with Stiles by his side and the crackling fire. There were some distant sounds from the surrounding woods as well, but they were familiar and non-threatening.

Derek's gaze traveled over his room – the couch, the two chairs, the dresser, his books and the distinct lack of other furniture or decorations. He didn't really need more than that but he couldn't help feeling that it was pathetic either way. He wasn't ashamed – he felt no need to put on a show or pretend, especially not in front of Stiles – but it was rather depressing. But furniture wasn't easy to come by for him, not to mention that there wasn't much room left anyway. Still, he wondered, if only briefly, whether Stiles thought it was pathetic too and whether Derek would have to change it in order to make Stiles more keen to come back.

He pushed the thought away soon enough, not wanting to linger on things he wouldn't find answers to anyway, because he sure as hell had no intention of asking Stiles about it. He wasn't stupid.

It was no small task to extract himself without waking Stiles up. It wasn't that Derek actually _wanted_ to move but if Stiles was tired enough to fall asleep practically on top of him it would be better if he got to sleep comfortably. So Derek carefully made sure that Stiles laid down instead and with some effort even managed to pull the comforter out from under him and spread it out on top of Stiles, who burrowed down almost instantly.

Derek couldn't help the small smile he felt twitching at his lips when Stiles nuzzled into one of Derek's pillows, clearly unaware or unaffected by the fact that it wasn't his own. Stiles sighed happily and the sound went straight to Derek's heart.

He knew it was a bad idea – a monumentally bad idea – but he leaned down all the same, brushing his lips against Stiles' temple. Derek was pretty sure that he didn't deserve someone like Stiles, but that didn't stop him from wanting him, for caring about him and for being more of a lovesick dork than Derek could ever remember having been since he was fifteen. It was stupid and silly but the way Stiles hummed when Derek kissed his forehead was enough to convince him that that clearly didn't matter.

Derek might be a fool and a dork but at least he had this – at least he had Stiles.

So after making sure that Stiles was as comfortable as he possibly could be Derek put a couple of logs on the fire before retreating to the couch. The bed might be big enough for them both but he didn't want to overstep his bounds, or make Stiles uncomfortable. Not to mention that he might be too distracted to sleep if he laid down next to Stiles. And it wasn't like the couch was uncomfortable.

It felt surprisingly peaceful and while Derek thought that he would have trouble sleeping with someone else in the room – no matter if it was Stiles – he felt himself drift off within a couple of minutes, the dull, firm thumps of Stiles' heartbeats echoing in his ears.

Derek woke when Stiles' heart skipped a beat and started racing. It didn't last long – probably just surprise due to the unfamiliar surroundings – so Derek kept his eyes closed, calmly gaining his bearings. He could hear and smell Stiles like a firm, comforting weight, even if they were on opposite ends of the room. It would smell of Stiles for days to come and Derek was not so secretly pleased about that. It would be something to hold on to while Stiles was away.

He opened his eyes when Stiles had settled again, receiving a waggling little wave for his efforts. It was stupidly adorable.

"Good morning." Stiles yawned widely, blinking a little blearily with those big, brown eyes of his. "I could have taken the couch."

"You fell asleep. I didn't want to wake you," Derek replied simply. He wouldn't have had the heart to make Stiles move to the couch.

"Sorry," Stiles mumbled with a fitting blush to match. It was fascinating in a way that was more than a little silly. Derek wasn't a lovesick fifteen year old.

"It's fine," Derek managed before sitting up. Stiles was far too distracting. Not that Stiles seemed to be aware of it, where he lay buried under Derek's blankets, looking embarrassed and possibly a little guilty. As if it was a big deal that he had fallen asleep in Derek's bed when in reality Derek was thrilled that he had. And he meant that in the least sexual way possible, no matter if his wolf rumbled with intent.

"Thanks for tucking me in."

It was Derek's turn to feel embarrassed, avoiding Stiles' gaze. He didn't regret doing it of course but it made him feel self-conscious to know that Stiles had noticed. And didn't seem to mind.

"You're welcome," Derek muttered.

He looked up when Stiles patted the bed, smiling brightly enough to make Derek's stomach squirm. He wasn't quite sure what Stiles expected him to do.

"Come here, you big, furry puppy," Stiles said with a laugh, and Derek found himself frowning despite the inviting wave and happy grin on Stiles' face. It sounded like a bad idea. His wolf thought differently – howling triumphantly like a moron – but Derek was more careful than that. Still, he couldn't deny that he wanted to come closer.

So he got up, after some careful deliberation, and walked over to sit on the bed next to Stiles. Derek felt awkward and surprisingly clumsy and he couldn't quite pinpoint why. He still didn't object when Stiles reached out, his fingers wandering into Derek's hair. The noise he made was downright embarrassing but Derek couldn't help it, his chest rumbling with a pleased growl as he leaned into the touch.

Derek divided his attention between what Stiles was saying about Lydia and the affection he was showered with, but he could admit that he was more interested in the latter. Derek didn't really care if Stiles' roommate was feeling anxious but at least he offered up where the best reception could be found.

The feel of Stiles scratching through his hair was distracting to say the least and Derek barely noticed when he closed his eyes. Something he _did_ notice however was when his lips brushed against the bare skin on Stiles' wrist, accidental as it might be. Derek didn't know if he only heard Stiles' pulse quickening or if he actually felt it as well, right there against his lips. It still gave him pause.

Stiles was clearly reacting to it in all kinds of unholy ways and Derek felt conflicted, but not necessarily in a bad way. He raised his own hand, wrapping his fingers around Stiles' wrist in a gentle grip, hearing Stiles' breath stutter. It was tempting, Derek couldn't deny that. Just a simple kiss and the scale would tip over. But he wasn't sure if it was the right moment. It felt loaded, yes, but not like that.

When he opened his eyes Stiles was staring up at him, eyes wide but unafraid, his lips slightly parted. No, this wasn't the right time. This was about something else. This was about Stiles trusting Derek not to harm him, despite how vulnerable he was. As if Derek would ever want to hurt Stiles. He'd rather kill himself. He hoped Stiles understood that and that he knew that the trust went both ways – that Derek knew that Stiles would never hurt him either.

So Derek allowed himself to be swayed by Stiles' clever fingers again, humming in contentment as they wandered through his hair. And he didn't struggle against the soft tug when Stiles pulled him down onto the bed. Derek would probably have followed Stiles literally anywhere in that moment.

He settled with his head on Stiles' shoulder, feeling strangely bold as he drew in closer, his arm wrapping around Stiles' chest. Derek hindered his impulse to bury his face against Stiles' neck but couldn't help remaining as close as he possibly could without it becoming uncomfortable or unsettling. He didn't have much time left and he wanted to make the most of it.

Every breath he took was laced with Stiles' scent and he let himself relax until all he focused on was the beating of Stiles' heart and the feel of his fingers in Derek's hair. He knew it wouldn't last and that Stiles would have to leave eventually, but he decided to cherish it while he could. It was more than he ever thought that he would have.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek is like a pile of angst and cuteness at the same time. I'm not sure how it works but I say that it does. He's been through some shit, that poor bastard.
> 
> And I really enjoy writing his wolf. Yupp.
> 
> Thank you to my faithful, tireless beta, [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum).


	14. Bonus Chapter 2 - The Spell

 

* * *

 

Saying goodbye was painful. After having spent a day constantly in each other's personal space it felt like a wide gulf suddenly opened between them when Stiles had to leave. Derek tried not to feel betrayed and angry. It wasn't Stiles' fault. Stiles wanted to stay – Derek saw that clear as day – but it would be unfair to ask that of him, mostly because he would probably agree in a heartbeat.

Derek couldn't deny that he was a lot more physical than he would be under any other circumstances. Some part of him still feared that Stiles wouldn't come back and his wolf was restless and cranky. So Derek indulged. He touched Stiles' skin, tracing a line from one mole to another, he played with Stiles' hair and tried his best to ingrain his scent into his memory. He shivered from delight when Stiles returned the attention and felt quite foolish for it. He had it bad.

So when they ended up on the porch Derek had a hard time maintaining his poker face. A part of him didn't even want to because Stiles deserved better than that.

Derek made sure to pull Stiles to him when arms encircled Derek's waist. It would have felt unnerving to have anyone but Stiles in his personal space like that. Only Stiles could bury his face against Derek's neck, closer than Derek had let anyone get in years, and still not get a violent reaction from him or his wolf. Stiles belonged there and Derek didn't want to let go.

"I'll be back before you know it." Stiles' voice was far from stable. Derek took some comfort in that, simply because it was a sure sign that Stiles was as upset about this was Derek was. Neither of them wanted to say goodbye, not even for a couple of days. It made Derek feel both better and sadder, since they would still have to go through with it.

Before he was able to hinder his impulse Derek had moved in to kiss Stiles' forehead, trying to convey at least a fraction of what he was feeling. It wasn't fancy or even particularly eloquent, but Stiles' stuttering heartbeats and the hitch in his breath showed that he must have understood. Derek felt Stiles' hands slip to his hips and held back a shiver.

Even when he pulled away Stiles didn't let go, but Derek couldn't really complain.

"I left my phone number, by the way... just in case you feel like, you know, charging up your phone again," Stiles offered with a shrug. "If you want to reach me."

Derek nodded, knowing that it would be difficult to get his phone charged with the limited amount of electricity he had, but it would be worth it if he could talk to Stiles, however briefly. The next couple of weeks were going to be very, very lonely otherwise, and for the first time in years Derek was actually not looking forward to it. Stiles would probably be proud if he knew how much Derek had changed because of him – how much more alive he felt.

"So... bye then."

It felt too final. Derek tried not to let it show but he was pretty certain that he failed. He wanted to cling to Stiles like some pathetic little pup and before he knew it his hands had wandered into Stiles' hair, holding him closer and somehow more intimately than before. Stiles held his breath, his eyes wide with surprise and a budding, hesitant look of longing and hope. Jesus. How was Derek supposed to withstand that? How was he supposed to resist when Stiles looked at him like _that_?

He still did.

Derek looked down, swallowing harshly while pushing all those impulses as far away as he possibly could. He was getting increasingly restless but now was not the time. He didn't want it to be something that Stiles could mistake for desperation – a heat of the moment decision that would seem less sincere later. No, when Derek finally kissed him he wanted it to mean something more than just a heartfelt goodbye. It was supposed to be hopeful, after all, not sad, and look to the future. He'd rather to it when Stiles returned.

"Hey, I'll be back as soon as I can, alright?"

Derek looked up, meeting Stiles' gaze. The wolf was whining pathetically, not wanting Stiles to leave. It didn't understand the obligations and responsibilities Stiles had. It was too simple and instinctive a being to do that.

Stiles hugged him again, tightly and with a fair share of desperation, and despite how every inch of him told him not to let Stiles go Derek did. He watched as Stiles made his way towards his Jeep – with heavy steps and a nearly painful look on his face – and moved only to wave back as Stiles walked steadily further away from him.

It hurt in a way Derek hadn't been entirely prepared for. It wasn't the same as he felt whenever he thought of his family, but it was almost as bad. He wasn't ready to let Stiles go. He felt lost and confused, his wolf howling in agony as Stiles climbed into his Jeep and drove away, after one final, weak smile in Derek's direction. The wolf wouldn't handle the separation well, Derek could already tell. He probably wouldn't either.

He lingered longer than was strictly necessary, listening to the slowly fading sound of the Jeep's rumbling engine. He couldn't bring himself to go back inside, despite the chill in the air and the ache in his chest. He was being ridiculous. Lovesick and pathetic.

Derek scoffed before shaking his head. After one last look towards the pitch black darkness into which Stiles' car had disappeared Derek turned on his heel and walked back into the house. There was no use moping. It would only make him more miserable.

He went back to his room, carefully closing the door behind himself to prevent the warmth from the hearth from slipping out. Stiles' scent was thick in the room, lingering on the sheets of Derek's bed and the very air he breathed. Derek wouldn't have it any other way. It was the only thing he would have left now, save for a couple of books that Stiles had brought. They were library books however and didn't carry Stiles' presence to the extent that the first ones had. Derek missed it, but he could make do.

It felt strange to suddenly be completely alone again and knowing that it would take weeks for Stiles to come back. If he ever did. But Derek felt inclined to trust Stiles on the matter, despite his own insecurities. Stiles had proved himself by then and Derek was not going to disrespect him by questioning his loyalty.

It still didn't make it any easier and Derek was as restless as his wolf.

He didn't know how much time passed – it couldn't have been many minutes since he barely had time to sit down with a book and turn the page – but whatever peace he had managed to force himself to feel shattered when the hair at the back of his neck suddenly stood on end. He couldn't place it at first, didn't know why he reacted and to what, until he heard it. A distant but still sharp, agonizing scream that echoed through the woods. Stiles' scream.

Derek was up from his bed and lunging for the door before he even fully grasped what was going on. His wolf reacted on reflex, snapping and snarling in anger, bristling at the mere thought of what could have happened. Stiles was obviously in danger somehow. His scream had been laced with pain and fear. Something was definitely wrong and Derek felt something lodge in his throat as he ran through the house, not even bothering with the stairs when he leapt of the porch.

A part of him knew that it was Peter – it had to be – but another desperately wished that it wouldn't be. Derek was never going to be able to beat Peter in a fight. The odds of him managing to protect Stiles were depressingly low and Derek wouldn't be able to live with himself if Stiles got hurt. Derek _prayed_ that it wouldn't be Peter's doing. It was a showdown he wasn't prepared for. But he had to try. If Stiles was in danger he had to try, if he so died himself while doing so.

Derek ran, as fast as he could, not quite able to explain how he knew where to go. Stiles' scent was faint and the scream had thankfully faded long ago. Derek still knew exactly where he was headed, as if he was following some kind of beacon. He had to find Stiles. He had to protect Stiles, no matter the cost. It was a frantic mantra he repeated in his head, as if it would counter the sick roll of anxiety and guilt in his gut. This was all his fault. If Peter had done something to Stiles it was all his fault.

He should have followed Stiles, like he did last night. Then he would at least have been there to prevent this from happening. Derek had just thought that it was better not to, to avoid riling his wolf up and prolonging the goodbye that had already been excruciatingly painful. But he should have. His comfort meant nothing compared to Stiles' safety. He was such an idiot. This was all his fault.

Derek saw them long before he actually reached them, Stiles pulled close to Peter's chest, clearly held there against his will. Derek's wolf growled menacingly at the sight of Peter's claws around Stiles' throat, just one sharp twist away from ending Stiles' life. Derek couldn't let that happen, under any circumstances. He'd rather die himself before he saw it happen.

So he slowed when he came within talking distance, not wanting to give Peter a reason to fulfill the obvious threat. Stiles was alive so far and that meant that Peter had some kind of plan or agenda. Derek might still be able to save Stiles and he would cling to that hope until the very last minute.

Guilt was still burning in his chest and he only granted himself a quick glance towards Stiles, to make sure that he was okay. Derek was afraid of what he would see if he lingered longer.

"Derek, how nice of you to join us," Peter drawled. Derek reacted instinctively with a thick, harsh growl. He tried to keep his breathing in check but his wolf was doing its best to urge him into action – to make him lunge for Peter and kill him for whatever he had done to Stiles to make him scream like that. It was a difficult impulse to curb.

"Let him go. Stiles has nothing to do with this," Derek spat with some difficulty. Articulating was always a little awkward with his fangs but now he had to talk around his growl as well.

"Oh but he does," Peter replied with a chuckle. "You see, I left you out here to rot, cowering in that decaying house all alone, and I take great satisfaction in knowing just how miserable you are." Peter paused for a moment, his smile sharp and unsettling. "Well, _was_ anyway. Until your little sweetheart here made an appearance."

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut when Peter's fingers tightened, followed by a barely contained whine. Derek had taken a step forward before he even made a conscious decision to do so, but the look Peter gave him made him stop short. Derek could hear the moment Peter's grip cut off Stiles' air supply and panic was building inside him. He had no idea what to do. He had no leverage and was considerably weaker than the alpha. Even if he was faster he wouldn't have time to pull Stiles to safety, not when Peter was clutching him so tightly.

Stiles looked at Derek, his brown eyes wide with fear, but he still tried to offer whatever reassurances he could. Derek wished that he had been able to believe them.

"The thing is, Derek, that I _like_ seeing you unhappy. It brings me a certain kind of joy that I can't find anywhere else. And Stiles here, well, he makes you _happy_." Peter placed his free hand on Stiles' shoulder and Derek's jaw clenched. "Do you see my problem?"

Derek didn't know what he had done to deserve this but he hated the fact that Stiles was caught in the crossfire. Stiles was innocent.

"So Stiles is very much a part of this," Peter continued, "and I think that we all know whose fault that is considering your track record, my dear nephew."

Derek did. He didn't need Peter pointing it out to him. People always got hurt when Derek showed enough weakness to care about someone, to lower his guard and allow them close. The situation they were in now was because of Derek and his failures.

"Fuck you!" Stiles spat furiously, making Derek's gaze snap up. Stiles struggled against Peter's grip, even when the claws tightened unbearably. "It's your-... f-fault, you crazy, murdering shithead!"

Derek could only stare. Stiles was being an idiot. Of course it was Derek's fault and Stiles shouldn't be risking getting hurt just because of something like that. Luckily enough for them Peter's grip loosened somewhat again, after he snorted amusedly.

"He's got quite a mouth on him. You sure know how to pick them, Derek," Peter said with a wide, pleased grin. He sobered up the next second. "The fact remains that I have to handle this situation somehow, you understand that, right? Stiles here – no matter how entertaining he might be – is an obstacle and a distraction. You know I hate those, Derek. Stiles has got to go."

Derek was just about ready to let his wolf loose. He felt it rolling under his skin, howling and snarling hatefully, begging for a chance to _riptearmaimKILL_. Peter deserved to die. He was not allowed to hurt Stiles. A low, threatening growl was building in Derek's throat.

"Derek, calm down. It's okay," said a voice as clear as crystal.

Derek blinked before meeting Stiles' gaze – those big, terrified eyes that urged him to be patient. It was like a gentle ripple of calm, soothing his frayed nerves and easing the tension in his body. Derek's wolf was still bristling but it settled, waiting. Expectant.

"Huh." Peter frowned, his expression calculating. He didn't look pleased and Derek felt his hackles rise. "Have you found yourself a new anchor, Derek? Is that what this boy is to you?"

Derek stiffened and swallowed thickly. He hadn't thought in those terms himself but he couldn't deny that it was in all likelihood true. Why else would his wolf be so eager to respond to everything involving Stiles? And why could a couple of simple words from Stiles ease the anger within him, if he wasn't Derek's anchor?

It wasn't something Derek had aimed for, even if he had always suspected that was what had been wrong with him these past five years. He hadn't asked for Stiles to become his anchor. It was a burden for them both – something that tied them together even when they might not want it.

His wolf was practically howling in triumph though, confirming Peter's suspicions without shame or compunction. Stiles was Derek's anchor now. His wolf had latched on to Stiles and had every intention of keeping him, because Stiles was the only thing that currently made Derek and his wolf able to communicate. For the first time in years they were in synch with each other.

"Well. That's too bad. I had half a mind to give him the bite and use him to tease you should he actually survive it, but now I think that I'll just kill him."

Derek couldn't deny that he froze at the mere thought of Peter biting Stiles. There were no guarantees that Stiles' body wouldn't reject the bite. And Derek wasn't sure if he would be able to go through that, watching someone succumb to the pain and agony such a death would entail. Not again. Not Stiles.

He was barely even aware of his own growl and defensive posture. Even if the thought of Stiles getting bitten was terrifying Derek hadn't missed that Peter was apparently dead set on killing him instead. The bite would at least offer a small chance of Stiles surviving. This didn't. Derek had to do something.

"And I think that you will do the honors, Derek," Peter drawled with a chuckle.

No.

Derek tensed up, his wolf stilling during a brief, terrifying moment. Not that. Anything but that.

Derek might not have agreed to join Peter's pack but Peter was still an alpha and could demand obedience and submission that Derek wasn't sure if he could resist, not when he and his wolf had barely gotten used to cooperating again.

_Not that_.

Before Derek had time to make a desperate lunge for Peter the alpha's howl echoed through the woods, ringing in Derek's ears. It was like a weight landed between his shoulder blades, forcing him to bend under the onslaught. He felt himself buckle – succumbing to the call despite his own desperate attempts not to. He tried to hold on to the frail shreds of himself that could still think – the ones that would recognize Stiles as someone who could not be hurt, someone he needed to protect. His anchor. But they were pushed aside faster than he could grab them and he felt himself slipping as his wolf surged to the surface, taking control.

He didn't want to. He tried to fight it. Anything but this. He would never forgive himself. He couldn't let this happen. His wolf snarled and Derek struggled against it, pushing back, but between one heartbeat and the next he was gone. Only the wolf remained.

_Anger. Blood thirst. Freedom._

_JoyexcitementhuntpreyKILL._

_Prey._

Pushed before them, sprawled on the earth. Fumbling. Frightened. Crawling backwards. Offering chase. Good.

Stench of fear. Thrumming heart. Alpha present. Obey. _HuntmaimriptearKILL._

Prey weak. Easy kill. They advance. Prey recoils. It will die.

"N-no... Derek, please."

Begging.

"Don't do this. It's Peter, not you. Please, Derek. You don't want to hurt me."

_Confusion. Hesitation. Prey._

_Prey?_

Brown eyes. Soft voice. Pale skin. Familiar scent. Comforting scent.

Not prey. Niggling doubt. _Something is wrong._

"You'll never forgive yourself if you hurt me!"

Stiles. Not their prey. Their anchor.

_Stiles._

_AnchorstabilityhomecherishprotectsaveLOVE._

A roar. Anger. Alpha lied. Defy alpha. Do not hurt Stiles. Kill alpha.

"No! DEREK!"

_KILL._

Derek snapped back into focus, sounds and smells rushing in, overflowing his senses. A brief flash – surprise on Peter's face – before they tumbled to the forest floor. Derek roared furiously – in anger, betrayal and hate. Alpha lied. The alpha tried to make him kill Stiles.

Disorientation. He felt confused. He struggled to catch up, to push the wolf back to a safer place, but it wanted to fight too. It still wanted control. Struggle.

Derek went flying, his back connecting to a tree. Pain. He landed on the cold ground, shoulder twisted awkwardly. Peter was angry, so very angry.

Derek sucked in a deep breath, smelled the frost and earth, Peter and Stiles. He struggled to get up, his limbs trembling from the battle of wills taking place inside him. He needed to focus. He could deal with his wolf later. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog.

"You just won't stop meddling, will you?" Peter growled, threateningly.

Derek was up on his feet before he knew it, rushing to keep Peter from reaching Stiles. Derek's back hurt and his shoulder felt stiff but he could manage. Protecting Stiles was his sole goal at that point. Derek tackled Peter to the ground, trying to pin him down, holding him at least long enough for Stiles to flee. That was the only thing he could do.

"RUN!"

Stiles looked torn and so frightened.

"Stiles, run! I can't hold him off much lon-" Derek choked on his words when Peter tore free from his grasp and turned on him instead. The punch he received had Derek reeling, barely catching himself before falling. The frosty leaved were cold and frail under Derek's hands, crunching as he rested his weight on them.

Peter grabbed the collar of Derek's shirt, pulling him up for another strike. Stiles leaned forward, as if to come to his aid. Derek couldn't allow that. Stiles couldn't get caught in the crossfire.

"NO! Just run! I can-... I can hold him," Derek gasped out despite the numbing pain in his cheek and back. Stiles hesitated, clearly conflicted on what to do next. Peter paused, probably just to humor his nephew.

"Oh, can you now?" Peter sounded amused – condescending – and Derek seized the opportunity he saw when Peter lowered his guard, just for a fraction of a second, and broke free.

Derek quickly rolled back, bracing against the ground to gain the amount of force he needed to kick Peter back, his feet against his uncle's chest. Derek had always been the more creative fighter of the two, even if Peter was stronger. It earned Derek a small edge.

"Stiles, get out of here!" Derek tried to get back up on his feet, knowing that he didn't have much time. He stumbled but tried to ignore it as he fixed Stiles with a look that was meant to be stern but probably looked pleading if anything. "Run. Just run. _Please_ , Stiles. I'm begging you."

Stiles didn't want to, Derek could easily see that, but he must have understood that there wasn't much he could do in this situation. He would only get himself hurt, perhaps even killed. So Derek couldn't help feeling relieved when Stiles nodded, agreeing to get himself to safety.

Stiles looked reluctant – guilty even – but when Peter roared again he turned and fled. Derek lingered only long enough to make sure that Stiles was truly leaving before he faced Peter. He barely had time to duck the incoming blow that would probably have fractured his skull, had it connected.

Too bad the kick to his knee came too swiftly after it, ripping a pained shout from him. Something crunched when he tried to limp backwards and Peter obviously allowed him that much, even if his kept his eyes fixed on Derek. It was slightly distracting to hear Stiles' fading footsteps but it was a comfort to know that he was still moving.

Derek's body was already working on healing his knee – the pain in his back and jaw all but gone – but he knew that he had to conserve his energy. Derek couldn't win this fight but he needed to give Stiles enough time to escape, and if possible himself as well. Peter would do anything within his power to prevent that but Derek had a stubborn streak that not even his uncle could match.

"You are such a pathetic fool, Derek," Peter growled when he attacked again. Derek made an attempt to pull away and he would probably have managed if it hadn't been for his knee and Peter's anger, which only seemed to fuel his ruthlessness.

Derek bit back a hiss of pain when claws slashed across his shoulder, but it was nothing he wouldn't be able to heal from. He gasped when Peter's hand shot out, clamping down around Derek's throat before he had time to recoil.

He was pushed against a tree, the bark rough against his back, prickling through his shirt. Peter's eyes were burning, laced with fury and disappointment, oddly enough.

"You always do this, dear nephew. Set yourself up to be hurt just because you can't keep a level head." Peter drew closer, his grip tightening when Derek made an effort to pry him off, his claws digging into the skin on Peter's hand and wrist. The pain barely seemed to register. "Your habit of getting involved with humans is quite despicable. Have you learned nothing over the years?"

Derek growled, snapping his teeth in a weak display of defiance. Peter wasn't impressed.

"That, right there, is your problem, Derek. You act on instinct. You let your anger rule your decisions. Granted that you don't have much of a head to begin with, but even you must realize that going in blind and without a plan is just suicidal."

Derek gritted his teeth.

"You won't kill me," he snarled, trying to gain enough leverage to push Peter back, but the trunk of the tree wasn't wide enough to be of much use.

Peter smiled.

"No, I can admit that I would like to avoid that if I can. You are still far too entertaining for that." The grip tightened, Derek's throat vibrating with a furious growl. "But I can make exceptions."

Derek tried to think. He had to get away from Peter's claws and he had to be smart about it. He could barely hear Stiles' retreating footsteps by then, but he still needed to keep Peter distracted, at least for another minute or two.

He took a couple of quick, urgent breaths and allowed it to hitch to the point where it almost sounded like a whine. Like he was giving up. The pleased look on Peter's face said it all and Derek wasn't surprised when he felt the fingers around his throat loosen somewhat. Not enough for him to break free but enough to give him an opening.

Derek grabbed a hold of Peter's collar and pulled him closer, while he at the same time pushed off from the tree as far as he could get. It wasn't much but Peter looked rather surprised when he had to flinch back to avoid having Derek literally chew his face off. Derek had known that he probably wouldn't be lucky enough to actually take a bite out of his uncle's face, but the interruption crippled Peter's balance to the point that Derek could push him off.

He didn't get far before Peter was on him again though, claws cutting deep into Derek's right side, ripping through flesh. Derek would have screamed if he hadn't clenched his teeth hard enough for it to hurt.

He stumbled, one hand covering the gashes in his side while he tried to catch his fall with the other. Blood trickled between Derek's finger and onto the ground, the red color a stark contrast to the frosty white, even in the limited light of the woods.

A kick to his wounded side sent him sprawling on his side with a half choked gasp. Another – this one to his face – had him flat on his back and when Peter placed his foot at the center of Derek's chest he knew that this would turn ugly. His nose was bleeding and his lip stung, probably split from the force behind Peter's kick.

"You just don't give up, do you, Derek?" It was an insult rather than a compliment, one Derek couldn't answer even if he wanted to.

Peter pushed down and Derek gasped for breath, his free hand grabbing Peter's leg, just below the knee, but his uncle didn't let up, even when Derek's claws sank deep into his skin. Derek thrashed and tried to push Peter away but the only reward for his efforts was more pressure and the feeling of his ribs struggling not to snap. He tasted blood at the back of his throat.

Panic was licking up his spine as black spots began to dance across his vision and when Derek heard something crack he lashed out in pure fear. His desperate kick caught Peter somewhere in the side, possibly glancing off his back, and when he stumbled Derek was quick to crawl out from underneath him. Something was definitely wrong with his ribs but he tried to ignore it, biting back against the sharp sting of pain.

Peter roared as soon as he found his balance and Derek held up an arm to protect his head from Peter's claws. The slashes he received stung but weren't life threatening. Derek hoped Stiles had gotten away by then. He wouldn't be able to withstand much more of this.

The decision was made for him when Peter snarled and grabbed a hold of Derek's hair, forcing him to look up.

"What do you hope to gain with this, huh? Me beating you to a pulp? Because that precious boy of yours will be mine for the taking while you lie out here in the woods, trying to stitch yourself back together. Who will protect him then? His bitch of a roommate?" Peter grinned. "Think about it, Derek. You, lying here, helpless and forgotten, while I tear and cut and rip into his skin while he screams for you – for help. He has really nice skin. Very soft. Did you know that?"

Derek wasn't even sure what made him able to function past the biting pain in his chest and side but he was pretty certain that it was anger, unlike any anger he had ever felt before. No one had the right to threaten Stiles like that. Derek wouldn't let anyone harm Stiles and nor would his wolf.

Peter seemed taken aback by Derek's sudden roar, but even more so by the ferociousness he showed when he suddenly broke Peter's hold with a swift movement with his hand and proceeded to sweep Peter's feet out from under him.

Derek snarled as his wolf urged him to pounce – to go for the throat and kill the alpha – but Derek was far too wounded for that. He wouldn't be able to deliver a killing blow. Not when Peter was trying to get to his feet only a second later. Derek kicked out, his heel connecting with Peter's chin with a sickening crunch that left only satisfaction in its wake.

Derek scrambled to get up before Peter regained his bearings, once again ignoring his wolf's instincts in favor of stomping down, as hard as he could, on Peter's knee. Peter howled in pain while what could only be his alpha form seemed to ripple under his skin. Derek sucked in a breath before he stumbled backwards. He might have a momentary advantage but he wouldn't be able to win. He knew that. Not with how Peter's eyes were burning red and his face seemed to elongate and shift. Derek needed to get out of there. Fast. He needed to find Stiles.

Despite his wolf's urges to finish the fight Derek turned and ran, as well as he could with all his wounds and scrapes. He knew that Peter wouldn't be far behind but Derek had a feeling that his uncle wouldn't attack until he had been able to gather his composure again. It might not take more than a couple of hours but that was more than enough time for Derek to find his way to Stiles' apartment.

He wasn't much in terms of a bodyguard considering the shape he was in, but it was better than nothing. He just prayed that Stiles had gotten home safely.

Derek kept an arm wrapped around his ribs, pressing down on the claw marks on his side at the same time. His body struggled to heal but Derek knew that it would take a while before it managed. He was actually rather surprised that he could stand at all, much less run, however much he happened to be stumbling. Still, if he made it to Stiles it would be worth it.

That was the only thing that kept him going at that point.

Finding his way to Stiles' apartment was easy enough, what complicated things was that Derek had to avoid other people lest they see what shape he was in. The blood was rather eye catching. Which also meant that Derek couldn't walk in through the front door, not with Stiles' roommate there. And Stiles lived on the third floor.

Derek closed his eyes, leaning his back against the wall directly under Stiles' window. It would have been an easy climb on any other given day – there was a drainpipe to his left and the ledge of Stiles' window was wide enough for him to cling to – but the gashes in his side had barely had time to stop bleeding. His ribs were still aching even if he was pretty certain that they were at least back in alignment now. He was in no shape to make that climb. Still, he had to try, despite his exhaustion.

Which was why he took a couple of stabilizing breaths before straightening, trying to pretend that he didn't wince at the slight twinge in his side. He wiped the blood off his hands to improve his grip before beginning the arduous climb upwards.

It hurt to the point of agony and he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to unclench his teeth, but he did reach his destination eventually. Opening and climbing inside the window wasn't any easier but at least he managed, only to collapse on the floor the moment he did. Not his most graceful moment.

He could hear Stiles in the kitchen – the way Stiles' heart skipped a beat and how he sucked in a sharp breath, no doubt having heard Derek's less than subtle entrance – but couldn't bring himself to move beyond closing the window. No use letting the cold in.

A series of thundering footsteps was heard before the door was pushed open and Stiles was in the doorway, looking terrified and panicked. Derek's own fears burst to life again at the sight of Stiles' distress and he was moving without even registering that he probably shouldn't have been able to. They met halfway across the room and Derek wasted no time before pulling Stiles to him.

"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" Derek gasped through his pain. "He didn't-... did he bite you?"

Please, God, not that. Peter might have done it before Derek arrived and there had to be a reason for Stiles' anxiety now. Stiles looked so afraid. Had Derek missed that he was hurt? He should have checked. He should have made sure. This was all his fault. His wolf whined.

"Whoa! Derek, I should be asking you the same thing! Look at you! You are-"

"Did he hurt you?" Derek persisted, combing through Stiles' hair, just inches from patting Stiles down in search for injuries, despite the confused look on Stiles' face. "Did he bite you? Are you alright? I'm-... I could have-..." Derek couldn't even say it. It felt like barbed wire had been shoved down his throat. He might have been the one who hurt Stiles, before he regained control of his wolf and himself. "Are you hurt?"

Stiles stared at him during a brief second – which only served to rile Derek up more because _Stiles wasn't answering_ – until something like determination settled in his eyes. Before Derek had time to plead for a reply Stiles had pulled him closer, a surprisingly firm hand guiding Derek's head to the juncture between Stiles' neck and shoulder. Derek froze at first, confused, surprised and still worried enough to make him want to gag, but as soon as he actually realized where he was – the smell in his nostrils, tangible even underneath the traces of Peter – he almost sobbed instead.

"I'm okay, Derek. I'm fine," Stiles mumbled in Derek's ear, so soft and reassuring. Derek's hands scrambled to grab a hold of Stiles' shirt, holding on, clinging desperately. He could have lost Stiles. He could have lost him.

"He didn't bite me. I'm fine. I promise. I'm more worried about you," Stiles continued, and Derek listened only because he needed to know if Stiles was alright. Derek wasn't sure if it was he or his wolf who whined in relief. Stiles was okay.

"It's okay. I'm here." The sound of Stiles' voice did a lot to calm Derek's anxiety, especially coupled with his scent. The only blood he could smell was his own.

Derek was pretty sure that he was shaking. It would have been embarrassing if not for the fact that Derek was truly terrified of losing Stiles. He had no idea what to do if that happened. He wasn't sure if he could stand losing someone else – especially not to Peter. It was all his fault.

"I'm so sorry. I could have-... I almost-" Derek wasn't even sure exactly what he was trying to say, just that he needed to apologize somehow.

"No, no, no, no. Derek, you didn't. That's the important part," Stiles interrupted, "you didn't hurt me. You didn't. You never would."

Stiles' words didn't offer as much relief as they had obviously intended, but Derek was grateful for the effort. He squeezed tighter, pulling Stiles as close as he could possibly get, heedless of his own aching ribs and wounded side. Stiles started combing through Derek's hair while continuing to whisper comforting nonsense that made Derek relax, little by little. It wasn't the forgiveness or the assurance that Stiles wasn't mad – it was the fact that Stiles was there, still whole and still every inch of the self-sacrificing, wonderful human being he always had been.

That was why Derek let Stiles fuss over him. He knew that it was Stiles' way of making sure that Derek was okay. Stiles' need to take care of people was bordering on chronic. But it was one of the things that made him who he was and Derek had no reason to complain.

So as soon as he had calmed down Derek allowed Stiles' attention to turn towards him instead. Derek didn't like it – he was inclined to just ignore an injury until it eventually healed, because it always did – but Stiles wouldn't have that. Oh no, Stiles wanted to fuss over it.

And that was how Derek found himself seated on Stiles' bed, waiting for Stiles to return from the bathroom. It unnerved him to have Stiles out of hit reach – even more so out of sight – but he made sure to follow Stiles' progress through his hearing instead. He relaxed only when Stiles wandered back into the room with some towels, a first aid-kit and what seemed to be a small tub meant for footbaths. Derek didn't really care, to be honest.

He was beyond tired.

The loss of blood, the healing process and the emotional rollercoaster had taken his toll and even though Derek wanted to deny it he was pretty close to collapsing. So he didn't protest in any way besides an eye roll when Stiles demanded that he take his shirt off.

Derek could easily tell how much Stiles appreciated the view, even without the staring. The sudden burst of thick, heady arousal was more than enough. It almost made Derek want to chuckle. Luckily enough for him he didn't because he would undoubtedly have looked quite stupid choking on said chuckle, when Stiles pushed Derek's legs apart and knelt down in front him, one hand braced on Derek's thigh.

That was, well, yeah, Derek probably deserved that one and was infinitely glad for his acute blood loss, since it prevented the situation from becoming even more awkward than it already was. Derek had never even known that his wolf was capable of cackling but it certainly was now.

Stiles looked admirably clinical despite their obviously incriminating position and Derek allowed himself to relax when Stiles began to wash the blood off. It was a slow process but still soothing, probably because it felt surprisingly comforting to be at the center of someone's attention when it didn't involve violence somehow. Stiles was gentle but thorough and kept whispering soft reassurances – probably unaware of it himself – as soon as Derek showed any discomfort.

Derek felt something warm and foreign stir in his chest but he kept a straight face and leaned back to give Stiles more room. It felt terribly nice to be touched so carefully but Derek would never voice that out loud.

Once he was done Stiles stopped to inspect the damage, his brow furrowed in worry while he reached out tentatively, chewing on his bottom lip in a highly distracting manner.

"How long will it take for them to heal?" Stiles asked quietly, but he never actually touched the gashes in Derek's side.

"A couple of hours. Peter's an alpha so it takes longer than usual," Derek replied truthfully. He had mentioned it before during one of their conversations about werewolves but he wasn't certain if Stiles remembered.

Stiles looked at him, hesitantly almost, as if he was afraid of doing something wrong.

"What happened out there?" Stiles sounded surprisingly timid.

Derek watched as Stiles got to his feet, a nervous hint to his movements. He didn't really want to discuss that with Stiles but Derek didn't have the heart to ignore or snap at him. Not now. Not after what had happened.

"I waited until you had gotten away before I broke free and fled."

The defeat burned like a physical ache in his gut, his wolf growling, clearly angry at him for his cowardice and having disobeyed his instincts. The wolf thought that they should have stayed and fought the alpha until only one of them was left standing. The problem was that it would without a doubt have been Peter, not Derek.

Two fingertips came to rest under Derek's chin, tipping his head backwards. Derek allowed it, looking up into Stiles' softly smiling face. A thumb rubbed against Derek's jaw, placating his snarling wolf until it was closer to a satisfied, rumbling purr. Never mind that wolves didn't purr.

"I'm glad you did," Stiles said, voice reverent and grateful in a way that assured Derek that he had made the right decision, his wolf be damned.

When Stiles carefully started wiping away the blood on his face Derek couldn't help closing his eyes, reveling in the closeness and dedication Stiles showed him. Derek had never quite had that with anyone else. Love and care, yes, but Stiles' way of caring was special – all-compassing and intense – and Derek couldn't deny that it felt more intimate than he would have thought possible. Stiles' scent was all around him, Stiles' fingertips against his chin, gently angling his head to make the cleaning easier, and despite the ordeal they had been through Derek felt strangely content.

Because of Stiles.

He let his hands rest low on Stiles' sides, just to feel the warmth of him underneath his palms, his fingers curling around Stiles' hips. It was so tranquil and calming that Derek felt more relaxed than he had in ages, despite the still throbbing gashes Peter had left him. The pain felt dull and distant compared to the feelings growing in his chest.

"There you are," Stiles mumbled softly, affection thick in his voice. Derek felt a finger run along his nose and he opened his eyes, just in time for when Stiles bent forward, leaning his forehead against Derek's. "I missed you."

Derek had no idea what to reply to that. He hadn't been gone long at all. Something told him Stiles was referring to something else, but what Derek couldn't quite fathom.

"You scared me," Stiles finally explained, his radiant smile fading somewhat. "I thought I was going to lose you and you're not the only one who doesn't know how to handle that kind of blow." Stiles' fingers wandered into Derek's hair after he had tossed the bloodied towel aside. "I wouldn't know what to do without you, Derek. Please be careful."

Derek blinked. Stiles' sincerity surprised him. And in a way he knew that it shouldn't have. Stiles had never been particularly shy about how much he cared for Derek, it was just baffling to hear it expressed so bluntly, without anything sinister hiding behind it. No buts, no demands, no expectations and definitely no malice. It was nothing like Kate. It was completely unconditional and genuine.

Derek felt a little breathless.

He couldn't for the life of him understand how he had managed to find someone like Stiles – how he was allowed to have this, however uncertain and fragile it was at the moment. Stiles wasn't the least bit afraid of him, despite his transformed face and what Peter had done. Stiles was right there, warm and solid under Derek's hands, smiling like there was no other place he would rather be. It made Derek's throat seize up.

He was pretty certain that he didn't deserve it. He was pretty certain that he would ruin it somehow, like he always did. But more than anything he knew that this was everything he had ever wanted. It was his. Stiles was his anchor.

The wolf was egging him on, howling triumphantly from _joypridelovemineANCHOR_. Derek could feel it building in his chest, tightening like a hot burn before it started seeping out, into his limbs and under his skin. His wolf was right there with him, close to the surface but not a hindrance, slipping into place like it had never even left to begin with. Derek's hands on Stiles' hips grounded him, kept him stable. His anchor.

One little skip and their hearts were in harmony once more, for the third time. Derek heard it like a rhythmic beat in his ears, pounding into his very bones. This was it. He'd never find a moment better than this. His wolf was ecstatic.

Derek allowed his hands to wander higher, causing a hitch in Stiles' breath. He looked so beautiful – wide-eyed and a little nervous perhaps, but expectant. Hopeful. Stiles licked his lips as his heart started beating faster, but even if it did they were still in tune. Derek's was racing as well, matching Stiles' pace. They were so exquisitely in harmony with each other.

Derek was still careful when he leaned closer, wanting to make sure that he wasn't making a mistake – that Stiles wanted this too. Derek could hear their hearts beating, the rapid, excited tattoo thrumming in their chests.

"It's okay," Stiles whispered dazedly while one of his hands moved to cup Derek's cheek. It was everything Derek needed to know.

He moved closer, tilting his head until he could press his lips against Stiles'. Derek was nervous, he could admit that, since he didn't have a habit of kissing people when transformed, but his doubts and fears slipped away when he felt Stiles respond, eagerly and without hesitation. So typically Stiles.

A delighted shiver trickled down Derek's spine, his grip around Stiles' hips tightening, but he was still careful. He kept his fangs hidden while they shared more kisses that grew steadily more confident and urgent. His wolf was rumbling – or possibly Derek was the one, he didn't really care – as he tugged on Stiles' hips until he ended up straddling Derek's legs, pliant and trusting in Derek's hands. It made the warm glow in his gut tighten until he felt it sizzling through his veins.

Stiles was eager, his soft moan doing unspeakable things to Derek's ability to focus. Perhaps that was why Derek couldn't resist when he felt Stiles lick along his bottom lip, and perhaps that was why he didn't even flinch as he opened his mouth and the kiss deepened. His fangs should have scared Stiles or at least made him hesitate, but of course Stiles barely even paused. His enthusiasm was astounding and more than a little flattering. Derek was lost.

He pulled Stiles closer, growling low in his throat when he felt Stiles' fingers comb through his hair, adding a tenderness to the otherwise heated kiss. Derek was pretty certain that it had never felt this good before. He had never felt this free and alive, yet still strangely vulnerable. But he wasn't afraid. He trusted Stiles. Derek wouldn't hesitate to give Stiles everything, every tattered, broken little piece of himself. Stiles was his anchor and Stiles could be trusted.

Stiles, who fluently arched his back to meet Derek's touch, a warm weight against his palms, who smelled heavenly and made the sweetest mewling noises Derek had heard in his entire life. Stiles, who threw himself into Derek's world without hesitation or care for his own safety and in the process gave Derek something to live for. Stiles, who would never, ever betray him. Derek shivered.

Eventually Stiles pulled back enough to gulp down a much needed breath of air, but his grin was dopey and happy against Derek's lips. It said so many things that Derek couldn't even catalogue them all. There was no use trying.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that," Stiles whispered.

Derek couldn't help snorting, tilting his head to better direct the fingers wandering through his hair.

"You've been pretty obvious about it, actually..." he replied with a smile. Stiles scoffed.

"Oh shush you." Stiles might have sounded mock-insulted but his smile didn't fade.

Derek didn't struggle when Stiles pulled him in for another kiss, even if his comment apparently earned him a tug on his hair. Derek growled from delight, his wolf echoing his pleasure. He was never going to get enough of this. He was never going to let this go.

He was happy.

This time Derek woke from Stiles' choked squeak and the telltale thump of a body hitting the floor next to the bed, the sheets stretched tight between them as half seemed to have followed Stiles in his descent. Had Derek been any less relaxed he would probably have flinched and expected a threat, but the only heartbeats and scents he could discern was his and Stiles'.

Derek grinned at Stiles' spluttered curses before rolling close enough to the edge of the bed to be able to lean over it and look down at Stiles. It didn't surprise him that Stiles was someone who might fall out of bed in the morning.

What did surprise him was the look of shock and utter bewilderment on Stiles' face when their gazes met. Stiles was staring like they were complete strangers and Derek felt a twist in his gut. Did Stiles regret them deciding to sleep in the same bed? Was that why he looked close to panicking?

Then something changed. It was subtle but the tenseness gave way for disbelief.

" _Derek_?!" Stiles' voice was definitely pitched higher than usual. "What happened to your _face_?"

Derek blinked. His face? That could only mean one thing. He quickly sat up, looking down at his hands. His human hands.

"You-... you're not transformed. How-? When did that happen?" Stiles sounded both awed and confused, which Derek couldn't exactly hold against him. He was pretty baffled himself.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully, but his mind was already running through the possibilities. He could change back. He _had_ changed back, sometime during the night. He didn't even have to touch his own face to know that much.

Derek didn't know what to feel. He had been in his beta shape for so long that he barely even remembered what his own face looked like. His wolf was still there, rumbling in contentment under the surface, and the tug to transform had returned. He hadn't felt it in five years, since it was impossible to do that once already wolfed out. He would probably have to relearn how to control it, perhaps not from scratch but definitely the fine tuning. He was human again. Whatever Peter had done had been countered.

Derek looked up when he heard approaching footsteps but before he had time to actually follow his instincts and dive for some kind of cover the door was thrown open and Stiles' roommate made a rather dramatic entrance. Derek froze in fear, cursing his lack of attention. He should have heard her earlier and now she would see him and Stiles would have to somehow explain what he was.

It was only when she smiled and relaxed against the doorpost – without the expected screaming and panicking – that Derek remembered that he looked human. That would take a while to get used to. He didn't have to hide anymore. As long as he _remained_ human. There were no guarantees for that.

"You must be Derek. Nice to finally meet you," she said brightly. "I'm Lydia."

Derek had no idea what to do. Was he supposed to just act like nothing was wrong? Then again, according to her nothing was. She probably just thought that she had walked in on Stiles with his new boyfriend, considering Derek's half naked state and the fact that they had obviously shared a bed.

Derek tried to deny how he didn't mind her assuming something along those lines and instead cleared his throat, scrambling for some kind of reply. Better to just play it safe.

"Nice to meet you too."

For now she had to believe that he was normal. She didn't know about werewolves and for once Derek didn't look like one. He had to act normal.

How the hell did one act normal?

He would probably have started searching for an escape route if it hadn't been for Stiles' hand that slipped onto his, squeezing reassuringly. He couldn't have messed up all too badly then.

"I just heard a noise and wanted to make sure that Stiles hadn't brained himself on something," Lydia breezed on, clearly unaware of Derek's inner struggles. Thank God. "So do you guys want breakfast? Scott and Allison won't arrive for another two hours so there's-"

"Shit!" Stiles' sudden curse almost made Derek growl, ready to face down whatever threat that had made him sound so scared. It was only Lydia's presence that kept him from it, but he couldn't help frowning and clutching Stiles' hand.

"Don't worry, Stiles, I can pick them up on my own. You can stay with Derek if you want to."

Derek was pretty certain that Lydia was way off the mark with her observation but Derek knew better than to say so out loud. He would wait for Stiles to explain it.

"Thanks. And breakfast would be nice." Stiles sounded tense despite the smile he tried to give Lydia. "Could you-... ah... give us a minute?"

Derek wasn't stupid enough not to notice how lewd Lydia's smile was but he was definitely wise enough not to react to it in any way. Stiles obviously wanted her to leave and Derek was all for that. It made him nervous to have someone else nearby. He wasn't used to it.

"Sure, Stiles. Anything you want," she replied perkily. Derek pretended not to see that she was clearly going to demand details from Stiles later, about Derek and what he was doing there.

A heavy silence settled over the room once she had turned and left, presumably to start making breakfast. Derek wasn't quite sure what to do. Stiles was looking lost and confused and Derek was still trying to catch up to the fact that he looked human and that he was going to have breakfast with Stiles' roommate. A heads up would have been nice.

"Wow." Stiles breathed out slowly. "I'm not even sure what to process first..."

Derek couldn't exactly help with that, no matter how much be wanted to, but he could at least offer some comfort. He wasn't good at it but Stiles, it had turned out, wasn't particularly picky. And Derek was really getting worried about the pace Stiles' heart was setting for itself.

It didn't take more than a prompting tug before Stiles climbed up from the floor and Derek took the opportunity to pull him close, until Stiles was practically in his lap. It felt better that way, to have him wrapped up in his arms, Stiles' back to his chest.

"Your heart is beating too fast," Derek said softly, hearing the thrum echo inside him, as if transferred from Stiles' chest to his own through their close proximity. He didn't mind.

Stiles sighed and seemed to be staring down at his own wrist. Derek felt his stomach clench when he saw the dark, ugly bruise marring Stiles' pale skin.

Peter.

Derek's wolf growled in anger but it was already too late to prevent this. The damage had already been done. Derek wished that he could make it go away but in the end could do nothing more than brush his thumb against it, hoping that it at least didn't hurt. Derek wouldn't know. His bruises always faded within minutes. Sometimes humans seemed so incredibly frail.

"I'm just-... what am I supposed to do? It's pretty obvious that Peter wants to get me out of the way and all of my friends might get caught up in that, but I can't exactly tell them to go home without also explaining why, but I _can't_ explain why because it involves fucking werewolves!"

Derek stiffened, feeling the sharp sting of guilt. It was his fault that Stiles was caught up in this in the first place. Stiles wasn't supposed to know about werewolves since it was always better – safer – for humans not to.

Stiles twisted around, his gaze intent but apologetic. He looked a little unnerved and Derek figured, when he saw Stiles' quick cataloguing of the face he was met with, that he still wasn't used to Derek looking human. Derek wasn't either. It would probably take weeks before he could be around people without flinching.

"No, no, not like that," Stiles hurried to continue, "I just mean that they probably won't believe me. I don't-... I'm okay with you being a werewolf, Derek. I wouldn't try to eat your face if I wasn't."

That wasn't what had made Derek stiffen, but it was somehow adorable that Stiles wanted to reassure him that he was okay with it. Derek would be lying if he said that the thought hadn't struck him – that he wasn't a little afraid that Stiles would reject him for being a werewolf. If not now then perhaps in the future. He could cherish Stiles' honesty.

Stiles blinked suddenly, looking a little dazed.

"Do that again," Stiles mumbled.

Derek almost pulled back a little.

"Do what?"

"Smile." He had never heard Stiles sound so _reverent_ before. As if Derek smiling was one of the wonders of the world.

Derek might not be entirely sure what he looked like now but he had always been described as at least handsome before. When he was younger he had smiled a lot, but after everything that had happened in his life it didn't come natural. He definitely didn't remember what he looked like when he smiled. It made him a little uneasy not knowing what Stiles was so fascinated by.

Stiles straddled his legs, warm and gentle fingertips wandering along Derek's shoulder, his neck and finally his jaw. There was no fur there anymore and Derek could see Stiles trying to reconcile with that fact. It would obviously be a transition for them both.

He didn't object when Stiles leaned in for a kiss, knowing that it would even be better than last night, if anything, without the complications offered by his fangs. Stiles' delighted little hum was proof of that and Derek let him set the pace. He didn't feel insulted that Stiles might like his human face more since it, just like his beta shape, was a part of him. He wasn't going to be jealous of himself. Not to mention that it was the more practical one as long as it didn't involve violence somehow.

Stiles eased back, his smile soft. Derek didn't realize that he was smiling too until Stiles traced his lips with his fingertip.

"Yeah," Stiles declared, his voice low and tender. "I think I can get used to this face too. Even if it's not as dashing as your other one."

Derek almost wanted to chuckle. Of course Stiles wouldn't pick favorites, it wasn't the way he worked. He settled for a smile in the end.

The kiss that earned him took him aback for a brief second, until his mind caught up and the sheer pleasure of it started spreading inside him. Stiles was fierce all of a sudden, demanding and exciting in a way that made Derek's wolf want to come out and play. Derek definitely held that back for now but he still responded in kind, relieved that he didn't have to worry about his fangs this time.

Derek pushed his hands inside Stiles' t-shirt, wanting to feel bare skin against his palms. Stiles moaned at the contact and Derek couldn't help pulling him closer, deepening the kiss – wanting more. He nipped at Stiles' lip, pleased to hear the responding whine Stiles gave. He was trusting but not passive and Derek's wolf was vibrating under his skin, pushing to get closer – to break free.

That might have influenced Derek's decision to grab a hold of Stiles' hair and pull his head back until the long, beautiful expanse of his throat was bared. Derek's wolf howled. Stiles almost seemed to flinch at the first kiss to his skin but the way he arched his back showed that it wasn't from fear. The sounds he was making as Derek continued to kiss and taste along his neck nearly drove Derek mad. Stiles probably had no idea how tempting he was.

A longing keening sound was heard before Stiles gulped down a trembling breath.

"Derek-... God, I wish I didn't have to, but... breakfast," Stiles said haltingly, "remember breakfast? We should probably-"

Derek didn't want to listen and therefore proceeded to brush his lips against Stiles' ear, infinitely pleased when Stiles' words stuttered to a complete halt. Derek felt more mischievous that he had in years and Lydia wasn't done yet, judging on what he heard from the kitchen. They would be fine.

"Okay, fuck breakfast," Stiles said in a rush before pushing Derek down onto the bed, hands on Derek's shoulders and eyes intent. Derek grinned, meeting Stiles' kiss without hesitation, his hands firm on Stiles' hips. This was far better than Derek had imagined.

"Or better yet – fuck me," Stiles practically purred and Derek felt that he couldn't exactly be blamed for the spark of pure want that caused. The intensity of it surprised him a little but he couldn't complain. His wolf was definitely not against it and Derek's grip on Stiles' hips tightened instinctively.

Ice cold dread shot through him a second later when Stiles flinched and Derek realized that his nails were no longer blunt, harmless and human. He snatched them away as fast as he could and turned his head to the side. He couldn't feel any fangs yet but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Shit. He hadn't noticed just how close to the surface his wolf had gotten.

Derek squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push it back, to force his claws to retract and the wolf to back down again, but it was harder than usual, what with Stiles straddling his waist and the distinct smell or arousal in the air. The wolf didn't want to sit quietly by the sidelines.

Stiles grabbed his hand and Derek had to fight his urge to pull it out of his reach.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay." Stiles kissed Derek's temple, urgent but tender. "It's okay, Derek. You know I don't mind."

Derek knew that, he did, but that didn't mean that he wanted to hurt Stiles. He couldn't risk it, and therefore focused on reclaiming the control from his wolf instead of answering. It was a frustrating and slow process, made difficult by the fact that his wolf had ran unchecked for years and wasn't exactly keen to be tamed now. Just because they could communicate didn't mean that they actually agreed with each other. His wolf's insulted snarling was proof enough of that.

When he finally felt confident enough to open his eyes again and look up at Stiles agitation and defeat was burning under his skin.

"I usually have better control..." Derek muttered sullenly, which Stiles countered rather beautifully by leaning down and kissing the tip of Derek's nose. It was silly how much he actually liked that. Not that he would ever tell anyone, of course.

"Perhaps you're out of practice?" Stiles suggested, before a devilish glint sparked in his eyes. "Or maybe I'm just that damned good?"

Derek scoffed, closer to a chuckle than anything else.

"You wish."

"I'll have you know that challenging me is a very bad thing. I'm known for being stubborn," Stiles mumbled teasingly against Derek's temple.

"Obstinate, more likely," Derek shot back. And for that he received a slap on his arm and a pouting Stiles. Which, really, was more adorable than it should have been.

"Hey! Be nice!"

Derek reached up, his thumb brushing against Stiles' chin. It was impossible not to smile when a warm, pleased hum started glowing in Derek's chest. He couldn't believe that he was allowed to have this. That Stiles was his – his anchor.

Stiles kissed Derek's knuckles, his smile soft and sweet. Derek's heart clenched. He wanted to tell Stiles. He wanted Stiles to know just how much he had changed Derek's life – how much he had helped him. Stiles deserved to know.

"The change-..." Derek lost his nerve before he even began but Stiles didn't push. He waited patiently for Derek to gather his wits and words. Derek took a slow breath. "Peter did it. I don't know what but... something. My anchor used to be anger. It kept me focused. Driven. But he did something, as punishment for not helping him, and I couldn't anymore. I could feel anger but it didn't help. I couldn't curb it or control it. Not anymore. I couldn't change back."

Derek stared up at Stiles, trying to convey just how fundamental this was to Derek's existence – how the loss of his anchor had shook him to his very core. His wolf was rumbling its approval, urging Derek to go on, to explain just how important Stiles was to them now.

"But I couldn't find a new anchor either... I wasn't even sure if that would work," Derek admitted, because he hadn't been sure. He hadn't dared to hope. "So I just remained the way I was. Until..."

Stiles smiled.

"Until you finally found one."

But that wasn't it at all, was it? Derek had tried to push Stiles away from the very first time they had met. It was only Stiles' stubbornness and kind heart that had taken them this far. Without it Derek would still be huddling alone back at his house, without having known the warmth of Stiles' skin and the security that he could offer. It was all Stiles.

He reached out, framing Stiles' face with his hands and pulled him down, kissing his cheek, his forehead and his lips, pouring all the gratefulness and reverence he felt into it. Derek wasn't very good with words, he knew that. He could never express how much this meant to him – how much Stiles meant to him – through heartfelt, lengthy confessions. He just hoped this would be good enough.

Stiles was practically motionless, leaning down over Derek with his lips slightly parted. Derek could tell that Stiles was holding his breath while his heart beat a mile a minute. Derek exhaled slowly, gathering his courage.

"No, until _you_ finally found _me_."

Stiles seemed to swallow, his gaze flickering across Derek's face, and for a second Derek had time to fear that he had somehow fucked it up – that he had said something wrong. But then Stiles' expression seemed to crumple, folding in on itself until the only thing that was left was raw emotion. Hope, joy, gratefulness and dedication.

When Stiles kissed him, trembling and achingly sweet, Derek knew that Stiles understood.

Eating breakfast with Stiles' roommate was just about as awkward as Derek had predicted. Not only was he uncomfortable in the presence of anyone but Stiles but she kept interrogating him on his intentions and life in a way that he found both annoying and intrusive. Partly because he had to lie on most questions, since he couldn't exactly admit that he was unemployed and living in a rundown house out in the middle of the woods.

He tried his best though, not wanting to disappoint Stiles, and he must have been doing at least a passable job if Stiles' dorky smiles were anything to go by. But that might also just be the Batman t-shirt Stiles had gotten him into. Not that Derek actually minded – who didn't like Batman? – but it felt a little odd to be wearing Stiles' clothes. They were a bit too small, to name one thing.

Once breakfast was over Stiles promised that they would do the cleaning while Lydia went to pick up their guests. Derek didn't mind. If he could get some moments alone with Stiles he would be infinitely grateful.

Stiles didn't disappoint.

He pulled Derek into a hug and proceeded to whisper his praise in Derek's ear, soft and reassuring. It made the unnerving morning worth it. Derek could withstand a lot if it meant that Stiles would be happy and safe, which was also why he assured him that he wanted to stay, despite the fact that more strangers would arrive. Derek knew that it would be difficult – he wasn't used to people anymore, especially now when he wouldn't be a faceless stranger in the crowd – but he couldn't leave Stiles without protection if Peter came back.

With that decided they tidied up in the kitchen before settling on the couch. Stiles seemed quite curious now that he had had the time to get used to Derek's human face, poking and prodding carefully, and Derek, surprisingly, didn't mind. He could imagine that it came as a bit of a shock and it wasn't like Stiles seemed _displeased_ or anything, which might have made Derek feel at least a little proud. It was nice to know that Stiles appreciated the way he looked.

Derek had gotten precious moments to reacquaint himself with his wolf and the balance between them by then. It felt stable now – better than earlier that morning – and Derek prayed that he would be able to remain in control while Stiles' friends were there. Just because he had a new anchor there were no guarantees the he would be able to keep himself from transforming.

So Derek couldn't help tensing somewhat when he heard Lydia return with the newcomers. Stiles was excited – as he should be – and Derek cherished the lingering kiss Stiles gave him before he got up from the couch to greet his friends.

This was not going to be easy.

Derek hung back when a guy in Stiles' age came barreling into the living room, engulfing Stiles in a tight hug as soon as they came within touching distance. The roughhousing that almost followed was nothing like the friendship Derek and Stiles shared. It felt strange, in a way, to see how Stiles acted with someone else in the room. There was so much about him that Derek still didn't know.

And then the newcomer spotted Derek.

"Oh, hi. Lydia said Stiles had someone over." The guy avoided Stiles' attempt to rein him in and marched right up to Derek, holding out his hand with a beaming smile. "I'm Scott."

Derek was momentarily stumped. He wasn't used to polite, innocent greetings and it took him a second to realize that he should probably respond if he wanted to avoid coming off as some kind of creep.

"I'm Derek," he replied after a somewhat tight smile, accepting the handshake. Scott seemed pleased with Derek's efforts and Derek felt something taut and worried inside his chest ease.

"You're going to stick around, right? A friend of Stiles' is a friend of mine," Scott continued, obviously sociable enough to completely accept Derek's presence despite the fact that they didn't know each other. Derek didn't understand how anyone could be that trusting.

Before Derek even had time to start fretting about answering Stiles jumped in to cover for him.

"Yeah, Derek wouldn't last a day without me."

Derek gave Stiles a measured glare but the only effect it had was that Stiles moved closer, which, in all honesty, wasn't exactly a bad thing. It made Derek relax a little further.

"I see you boys are getting acquainted," Lydia said briskly, her heels clicking against the floor as she and the other girl joined them in the living room.

Derek froze.

He recognized her. Or perhaps it wasn't the girl specifically but she definitely reminded him of someone and the mere thought of _her_ sent a terrified chill down his spine. But he couldn't be sure. Kate hadn't talked that much about her family when she was with Derek but she had mentioned a niece, only not by name. It could still be a coincidence. People didn't have to be related to look similar.

Derek knew that he shouldn't be staring the way he did – he was clearly making the poor girl uncomfortable – but he couldn't see past how much she reminded him of Kate. It wasn't just her appearance but her posture and demeanor as well. It set Derek's teeth on edge and his wolf was bristling under his skin.

Lydia didn't seem to notice and carried on with the introductions.

"Scott McCall, as I'm sure he has announced already, and this is Allison Argent. We-"

Derek snapped.

He wasn't proud over it and he didn't like the lack of control he showed but instincts were difficult to curb, especially when it concerned survival. She was an Argent. She was a _hunter_. Derek couldn't hold the wolf back if he so wanted, baring his teeth at the obvious threat.

She reacted just the way he thought she would, her face shifting completely until it was a cold, hard mask Derek had learned to recognize on most hunter's faces. Derek wasn't sure if he or she moved first but both aimed for Stiles. Derek couldn't allow that. A part of him of course knew that she wouldn't hurt Stiles – she had no reason to – but the majority of him, not to mention his furiously growling wolf, only saw a need to protect Stiles from the imminent danger.

He pulled Stiles out of her reach, quickly placing himself between them. His instincts told him to protect his anchor and he felt a growl vibrate in his chest when Allison pulled out a dagger. Derek didn't attack though, not if he could avoid it. He still knew that these were Stiles' friends, no matter if one of them had turned out to be a hunter. They were all so young.

Derek was making such a mess of things. There was no way they were going to be able to explain this without also explaining about werewolves, no matter if Derek made sure not to transform fully. His eyes were still shining and his claws and teeth were out.

"Stiles! Get away from him!" Allison barked, making Derek's hackles rise. Stiles was safer with him, which was why Derek promptly kept Stiles where he was, shielded behind Derek.

"What? No, let me explain-"

"Dude, what's wrong with his eyes?" Scott blurted out, clearly confused by what was going on. Derek couldn't blame him. Shining blue eyes wasn't normal.

"Stiles! You don't understand, he's not what you think!" Allison continued, her gaze sharp and unforgiving. It struck Derek that she would probably have attacked had it not been for the fact that she was worried about what would happen to Stiles if she did. It made his stomach churn.

"Wait. How do _you_ know what he is?" Stiles exclaimed, clearly a lot slower on the uptake than usual. Derek had explained about hunters. But Derek found it difficult to talk above his wolf's insistent _dangerthreatdangerthreatDANGER_ and couldn't remind him.

" _You_ know?" Allison sounded surprised.

"Yeah. I've known for as long as I've known him," Stiles replied while placing a hand on Derek's shoulder. It was a small comfort in a situation that was clearly derailed beyond what either of them had expected.

Derek still couldn't relax, not completely.

"Stiles, you really can't trust-"

Derek couldn't let her finish that sentence. She had nothing to do with that.

"She's a hunter," he growled, low in his throat. Stiles reacted immediately by pressing closer to Derek's back, interestingly enough. Stiles' heart was beating slightly faster than usual but he didn't seem frightened, just tense. Derek tried to take comfort in that. Stiles still wasn't afraid of him.

"ENOUGH!" Lydia's shout was loud enough to make Derek's ears ring but he didn't let it show. Lydia seemed livid, glaring at them with her hands clenched into tight fists.

"I have no idea what's going on and you two better stop talking in riddles," she snapped before pointing at Derek. "And you. I don't know what your intentions are but if you hurt Stiles I swear to God that I will make you wish that you had never been born, do you hear me?"

Derek wanted to snarl at her. She had no right to threaten him – not when he would rather die himself than ever hurt Stiles. Derek glared back, not backing down.

"He won't, Lydia. I promise you, he won't," Stiles assured her, definitely better at calming people down than Derek was.

Derek tensed when Stiles moved to stand beside instead of behind him but he knew that Stiles wouldn't appreciate if he pulled him back. These were Stiles' friends. They wouldn't hurt Stiles. Derek tried repeating that to his wolf, over and over to make it stop growling, but it wasn't until Stiles laced their fingers together that it actually settled down. It was still cautious and agitated but less prone to lash out.

Derek tried to focus on Stiles and the calm he offered.

"Now, tell me what the heck is going on here," Lydia demanded, and Derek couldn't blame her. He did feel a sting of guilt though, for what he had put all of them through and how he was unintentionally forcing Stiles to come clean about werewolves to his friends. He had a feeling that Stiles had wanted that conversation to play out a lot differently than it would now.

Stiles cleared his throat and Derek could literally feel how uncomfortable Stiles was. Lydia, however, was unrelenting. Derek assumed that he would have been as well, had he been in her shoes.

"You-... you should probably sit down," Stiles mumbled miserably and Derek, not for the first nor last time, wondered why he only seemed to make Stiles' life more difficult.

Derek only listened with half an ear. Werewolves and hunters were things he already knew about after all and he was busy trying to keep his wolf in check. It helped that Stiles sat next to him – despite Allison's protests – but it wasn't enough to completely ease his wolf's agitation. Being in the room with two hostile people wasn't exactly helping his nerves. Scott was the only one who seemed more confused than angry.

It was only reluctantly that Derek agreed to demonstrate the shift, mostly because he wasn't sure if he would be able to push his wolf back again afterwards. They hadn't had the time to really explore that yet – if he was permanently cured or not. But it worked with some effort and Derek tried to take as little part in the conversation as possible after that.

He attributed it to the shocking news that he even spoke at all, unintentionally admitting that he knew Allison's aunt. He couldn't believe that she was dead. _Kate_ was dead. She had always seemed invincible to him somehow, like a cancer he couldn't cure.

While a part of him was probably meant to feel relieved he mostly felt hollow. He had no idea how to react – what it meant to him and his future that she was gone. If anything at all. She was dead. How was he even supposed to deal with that?

Derek found himself wondering how it had happened, under what circumstances and where she had been at the time. He didn't want to know if she had suffered or whether she had actually regretted her actions before she died, but he couldn't help wondering what she had felt. Derek had always imagined that he would be relieved when he died. He wasn't sure if she was the same.

Derek was pulled back to the present by Allison's furious accusations. He guessed he could understand her, if he really tried. She had lost her aunt and wanted someone to blame, hunter or not. Derek fit the bill and the news that it was a werewolf that had done it sent a trickle of dread down Derek's spine. He wasn't stupid. Peter had been adamant on getting revenge and he had had years to track Kate down and kill her. The chance of it being a random werewolf was pretty slim when she had invoked the wrath of an alpha. Peter was probably the one to blame.

Not that Allison knew that. She wanted it to be Derek.

And that surely made sense to her, with the limited amount of knowledge she had. She clearly saw herself and her family as the wronged ones, unaware of what her aunt had done. So Derek told her. He took no pleasure in it – he saw the horror and disbelief on Allison's face – but he had no intention of shouldering the blame for something he wasn't actually guilty of.

He might have considered killing Kate once or twice, during his weaker moments, but he knew it wouldn't be worth it. In some part of his mind he knew that it wouldn't make it hurt less and it wouldn't magically fix him. The only thing he would gain was another life on his conscience, and he didn't want that. He was burdened enough as it was.

It almost felt like someone else was talking through him, admitting how Kate had burned his family alive, while the feeling of being hollow only grew. He didn't tell them about his biggest failure – the fact that he was possibly even more to blame than Kate – but he wasn't prepared to reveal that. Not in front of Stiles. Derek didn't want him to know how truly disgusting he was.

To his surprise Stiles defended him. Stiles seemed absolutely certain that Derek hadn't killed Allison's aunt, even if there was no way for him to know, not for sure. Then again, Derek should have known that Stiles, if anyone, would consider Peter for the deed. It didn't stop Derek from stiffening – he didn't like being reminded of how many lives his uncle had ruined – but with some convincing Allison actually seemed prone to believe them. Derek didn't know why but he wasn't going to question it either.

He had no soothing words to give her. He couldn't tell her that Kate's actions weren't horrific. He wasn't even sure if he could say that Kate hadn't deserved it, because it might be a lie. Derek was incapable of mourning Kate's death, even if it might make him a bad person.

He had to admit that it surprised him when they all suddenly decided to band together against Peter. Derek was baffled but determined not to show it. Then again, if Allison believed that Peter had murdered her aunt _and_ threatened to kill Stiles then she had nothing to lose by going after him.

It was the others that surprised Derek.

Lydia and Scott were completely human and definitely not trained in how to battle a werewolf, much less an alpha. But they didn't seem to care. They wanted to help protect their friend and Derek wanted to tell them how stupid they were. They couldn't win this. But a small, rebellious part of him kind of hoped that they could. Derek wasn't strong enough to take on Peter on his own but Allison was a hunter and both Stiles and Lydia were way above average intelligence. With some careful planning they might actually have a shot.

Derek still debated not letting them. They were all too young to die at the hands of his uncle, but he couldn't exactly say that without earning himself a round of insulted glares. Stiles, he had learned, wasn't one to just sit around and wait for rescue, and the odds were definitely more favorable with more allies on their side. He would simply have to trust Stiles' judgment this time.

He still felt reluctant – and a little insulted – when Stiles was asked to explain the situation in detail. It wasn't exactly flattering to reveal that Derek had been completely at Peter's mercy for years, hiding in the decaying house where his family had died. Derek despised the looks of pity he received and remained sullenly silent throughout it all. He didn't like this situation one bit. So it was a relief when they moved on to actually discussing what was to be done about Peter.

Derek didn't say much since his role was already given. He had to be the one to distract and if possible contain Peter, to avoid damage to the humans. It wouldn't be easy but with some luck and skill it could hopefully be done.

Allison consulted her father and Derek tried not to show just how unsettled he was by the thought of inviting more hunters. He knew that Kate wouldn't be among them but one Argent was enough. Derek wasn't sure if he would be able to avoid detection and getting himself killed if more showed up.

Still, he kept that to himself as a later issue to deal with. It was obvious that they needed backup and Derek didn't exactly have any remaining contacts or family members to call for help. They would have to make do with what they had. Which wasn't much to begin with.

They were obviously short on weapons – Derek felt a little guilty for breaking the Taser that time ages ago, considering that it would have come in handy now – but he was still mildly surprised by Lydia's suggestion to use self-igniting Molotov cocktails. What was less surprising was Stiles' outright refusal to commit to that plan. Derek knew that it was on his behalf.

It wasn't as if he was actually afraid of fire – he had no other way to keep his room warm during winter – but the thought of using it as a weapon could turn bad really fast. And _that_ made him uncomfortable. But he understood the benefits of it, especially since it was most likely just a safety measure until they could find something better, either when the stores opened the following day or when the other hunters arrived. They had to have something so despite his own reluctance he made sure to let Stiles know that he would manage. Stiles didn't like it but relented.

Derek took care not to be in the way when they set about actualizing the plan. Derek felt out of place, like a mute spectator who watched but didn't belong. He wasn't sure why. It might be because it had been him against Peter for so many years that he had a hard time catching up to the thought of others being there to help him. Or perhaps it was simply because they were so different from him. Human. Kind. Normal.

His wolf was quiet but at attention, clearly unsettled by Allison's continued presence, or Scott's insistent attempts to make small talk. Derek didn't do small talk, not even with Stiles' friends. Hell, he didn't even do small talk with _Stiles_. Derek was relieved when he was left alone.

Stiles was always there though, within eyesight, while the four humans worked on the Molotov cocktails. Derek observed from a distance, disliking the rancid smells from the chemicals but unable to leave the room entirely.

Scott kept giving him encouraging but slightly worried smiles, as if he felt a need to show his support – which Derek didn't understand at all. Lydia was less hostile now that the situation had been cleared up even if she still was noticeably wary, but Derek also caught the almost sad glance she threw his way when she thought that he wouldn't notice. Allison was tense but polite, careful not to make any sudden moves or come too close to Derek if she could help it. He couldn't quite determine whether it was for his or her sake. Probably both.

Stiles sought every opportunity to touch him, as if he feared that Derek would disappear otherwise, and Derek let him, secretly craving the contact just as much as Stiles did. Something was stirring under his skin – a restlessness that was difficult to ignore – and had Derek not known that the full moon was two weeks away he would have thought that to be the reason. Now he suspected that his uncle was to blame.

The longer they went without hearing from Peter the more paranoid Derek got. Sure, Peter was known for biding his time – the years he had spent in a coma showed that – but Derek thought that he would have made a move by then. Several hours had passed since the fight in the woods and Peter wouldn't let two new arrivals change that. He would come for Stiles again, unless something had made him change his plans.

Derek's gaze snapped to Allison, something heavy landing in his gut. Peter might have found out about her. He might know who Allison's aunt was and if that was the case he wouldn't hesitate to kill her too. In fact, he would probably insist on it, no matter if she had had anything to do with the fire or not. They hadn't heard from Peter because he was probably readjusting his strategy so that he would get not only Stiles but Allison as well. He would try to kill them both.

Derek considered telling them but eventually decided that it wouldn't do much difference. Allison was already operating under the assumption that they were all targets. She didn't need the extra warning, not from Derek.

The hours dragged on, heavy and oppressive from the threat hanging over their heads. Stiles was fidgety and clingy but Derek didn't have the heart to push him away. The others made valiant attempts to pretend that nothing was wrong with dinner and a movie but Derek couldn't. This was his fault. It was his psychotic uncle who caused all of this. They might get killed because of Derek's choices – his cowardice. He should have stood up to Peter long ago, then nothing of this would have happened.

Not even Stiles' assurances, when they could finally head for bed later that night, seemed to ease his guilt. Stiles tried to tell him that it was fine – that he didn't mind who and what Derek was – but Derek couldn't let it go. He shouldn't drag other people into what was essentially a power struggle between him and Peter. The others had decided to help because Stiles was targeted, and he never would have been if Derek hadn't let him close. If Derek had been stronger Stiles would never have ended up in this position.

It was all Derek's fault.

Even with Stiles curled up next to him on the bed the sweetness of the moment was soiled by Derek's burning, aching guilt. It was his fault.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That scene in the woods with Derek, Stiles and Peter might be one of my favourites in these bonus chapters. No lie. I had so much fuuuuuuuun!  
> ... I mean, it's horrible and cruel and I'm ashamed of myself. Right.
> 
> And Derek is a very angsty muffin, but he's sort of has reasons to be, if you ask me. The next chapter will include a lot of new scenes! :D
> 
> As always I want to thank [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) for being my beta!


	15. Bonus Chapter 3 - The Alpha

 

* * *

 

Derek couldn't place the sound at first. All he knew was that one minute he was floating effortlessly in sleep, Stiles a warm, comforting weight at his side, and in the next a shrill, piercing noise jolted him awake. His heart rate picked up, senses on alert, while his wolf snarled, just as disoriented and stunned as Derek felt. The noise hurt, boring relentlessly into his skull like a sharp spike of pure agony.

Stiles was moving next to him and Derek knew that had it been anyone else he would most likely have lashed out on instinct. He didn't handle rude awakenings very well, bristling together with his wolf. Derek snarled, pressing his hands against his ears in a vain attempt to limit the intrusive noise. Something was wrong. It sounded like an alarm.

Stiles' hands landed on top of Derek's while he started mumbling comforting nonsense. Derek barely heard it over the other noise and his wolf's furious howls. It did not handle surprise very well, especially not of this kind, where there might be a threat somewhere but the sound made it difficult to detect.

The soothing touch turned urgent as Stiles started tugging on Derek's shoulders instead, trying to coax him out of bed.

"Come on, Derek, we've got to get up." Stiles' voice was tight with worry. "It's the fire alarm. We need to get out."

Derek felt a brief flash of crippling panic. Not fire. Anything but fire.

Then his wolf stepped in, catching his attention by pointing out that there was no smell. Fires and smoke had a very distinct scent to it and Derek knew it well after having lived in a house damaged by it for years.

Before he had time to forward this and hopefully ease some of Stiles' panic they both froze when a deep, rumbling roar seemed to shake the building. The windows rattled and Stiles shuddered before pressing closer to Derek, probably without being aware of it himself. Derek held back a growl and would have wrapped his arms around Stiles if he hadn't still been trying to block the various intrusive sounds from reaching his ears.

There was no mistaking that howl.

"He's here," Derek bit out, feeling his hackles rise. Peter had obviously tired of waiting.

Stiles looked wide-eyed and terrified, his hands trembling against Derek's bare shoulders. But that was a small problem in the bigger scheme of things. Stiles was right – they needed to get out, even if there was no fire. Peter would come to them otherwise and there were far too many innocent people in the apartment building. It would be a blood bath. Derek couldn't allow that.

He lowered his hands with a grimace before leaning closer to Stiles.

"I don't smell any smoke," he said, and could literally feel how Stiles' shoulders relaxed a fraction. It was a little humbling to know how much Stiles trusted him. If Derek said there wasn't any smoke then Stiles believed it without question.

"Alright, we need to let the others know." Stiles got up from the bed and snatched his t-shirt from where it hung draped over the desk chair. "And get you some earplugs."

"Don't bother," Derek replied. Peter wanted him to be uncomfortable but Derek wasn't going to let that deter him. Derek glanced towards Stiles before getting up as well. "Get dressed instead."

Derek made sure to change back into his jeans, despite the bloodstains, simply because they would be more durable and he had a feeling that it was all going down tonight. Peter was done plotting and whatever his plan was he was no doubt putting it in motion. The fire alarm had only been the first step.

They were at least moderately dressed when Allison pushed open the door and marched in.

"There's no fire," Derek snapped rudely, honestly a little ashamed of how sharp his tone was. He wasn't actually angry with her, but she didn't seem to take it to heart. She nodded briskly, obviously on the same page as Derek – it was going down tonight, with or without backup.

"He's trying to chase us out – out into the open." Allison didn't sound pleased but Derek imagined that neither of them were. Scott looked rumpled and confused when he came to stand behind Allison.

"We can't stay here." Derek didn't allow Allison to get a word in before he continued, knowing that she might object just for the sake of it. "He will set the building on fire for real if he thinks it's necessary. We can't stay. People will get hurt."

"Then we lure him away," Stiles suggested between one breath and the next, as if these things came naturally to him, "lead him away from town – away from innocent bystanders."

It was the only real option they had and Derek had a feeling that he knew where Stiles wanted them to go, especially on such short notice. Peter would no doubt follow them there.

Derek pushed a green hoodie into Stiles' hands, partly to keep himself busy but mostly because it would be pretty cold outside and Stiles was clearly too caught up in the moment to think that far. His mind was probably running ahead of everyone else's, trying to adapt their strategies to the current situation. Dressing appropriately was secondary to Stiles right now, so Derek took it upon himself to make sure that he did.

"Do you know where we could go?" Allison asked while Stiles absently – almost on autopilot – slipped into the hoodie Derek had handed him.

"I have an idea, yeah..." Stiles trailed off and Derek gave a nod to answer Stiles' unspoken question. The house was one of the few places where they knew that they would be undisturbed and not risk involving other people. Stiles' shoulders straightened as he took a deep breath, probably bracing himself for what was to come. Derek's only thought was that he hoped that they would all come out of this alive.

"Come on." Stiles got them all moving but Derek lingered just long enough to cast a quick glance around Stiles' room, committing it to memory, just in case he would never see it again.

He knew that he would have to put his own safety at risk if he wanted to keep the humans alive. He was the only one who could withstand Peter's strength head on and heal from his injuries within minutes. Derek would have to go to great lengths just to make sure that they made it back to his house.

That thought kept circling around in his head while Scott and Stiles fetched the Molotov cocktails Lydia had packed up and they all headed for the door. If Peter was right outside he might not even let them leave in the first place, or run them off the road as soon as they got outside the city limits. Derek didn't know for certain but he suspected that Peter had a four legged alpha form – one that could easily hunt them down if he needed to.

People were streaming out from the other apartments, all heading for the stairs in their haste to evacuate the building. A child was crying somewhere close by and Derek would have been worried if he hadn't known that there was no fire. These people had nothing to fear as long as Peter chose to follow his actual targets when they left for the woods. The question was just what it would take for Peter to do that.

It was crowded inside the stairwell but Derek still managed to stay right behind Stiles, even if he made sure not to touch him. Stiles seemed more on edge than usual and flinched every time someone bumped into him. Derek could hear Stiles' heartbeat thrumming like the fluttering wings of a caged bird. They were all feeling the tension in the air.

It was a relief when they finally managed to get outside, despite the cold that awaited them. Stiles' Batman t-shirt didn't do much when it came to keeping Derek's arms warm, but he was still more appropriately dressed than some of the people who had stumbled from their apartments and out onto the street, half asleep. They looked disoriented and scared, which Derek couldn't exactly blame them for. They were just innocent spectators and had no idea that it was a false alarm.

The fire department was on the way and Derek hoped that these people would be able to go back inside soon, when it was determined safe. A small gathering of onlookers was gawking at the spectacle and Derek tried to search for his uncle's distinctive scent amongst the crowd of people. It was faint but definitely there. Peter was watching.

Derek swallowed, knowing that he would have to do something about that. Peter wouldn't just let them leave. He surely had some kind of plan – a way he wanted this to play out – and he'd be reluctant to let go of his fantasy. Derek had to change it up.

He waited until they had managed to weave their way through the gathered crowd before he grabbed Stiles' arm, keeping him from joining the others in heading for the Jeep. Derek didn't stop to consider the look on Stiles' face before he pulled him in close and kissed him, as deep and thorough as he dared out in public. Stiles was going to hate him for what he had to do, but there was no other way. Peter needed to be distracted so that the others had time to escape.

When Derek eased back Stiles looked confused, his eyes wide, and Derek felt an insane urge to bare his heart. He wanted to explain that he kissed him simply because he didn't know if he would get another chance to do it. He wanted to promise that he would do anything he could to prevent that from happening. He wanted to admit, against his own fears, that he might have fallen in love. It wasn't planned nor particularly wise, but it felt so right.

But he couldn't. The words wouldn't come.

"I'll buy you some time," he said instead, avoiding Stiles' gaze and turning on his heel. It was easy to slip back into the crowd, even if the brush of Stiles' fingertips against Derek's arm made his skin burn. He ignored Stiles' desperate pleas for him to stay. Someone needed to keep Peter from following. They would be defenseless otherwise.

Derek blocked out anything that might make him doubt his decision or change his mind and redoubled his efforts to locate Peter amongst the mass of people, his wolf growling at the back of his head. Derek wasn't surprised when he noticed that Peter had broken away from the rest of the crowd, lurking down the next block, probably getting ready to follow Stiles' Jeep once it drove off. Derek decided to go for speed rather than subtleness. Peter would notice him within seconds and the important part was not to win, but to let the others escape.

Peter didn't seem surprised at all when Derek turned around the corner and leapt at him without a second's pause. He was equally quick to respond. Derek barely managed to dodge after his initial attack was blocked, dancing out of the way when Peter tried to wrap his fingers around Derek's neck. Derek bared his teeth, growling low in his throat.

"Must you always be so predictable, Derek?" Peter drawled disapprovingly. "So you intend to give your little friends some time to-"

Derek didn't wait for Peter to finish. While every drawn out second counted he needed Peter angry enough to focus his attention on Derek, not the others. Only then was it safe to start stalling.

Peter, unsurprisingly, pulled back to avoid Derek's claws and it was only with great effort and a pinch of luck that Derek managed to get out of the way when Peter retaliated. They were so unevenly matched that Derek couldn't risk going in for real attacks without also putting himself in a position where Peter could reach him and get the upper hand. For the first time in his life Derek wished that he had had wolfsbane bullets and could just shot his uncle and be done with it. Peter's smirk seemed to suggest that he knew exactly how ineffective Derek's resistance would be but still decided to humor him. Derek was fine with that. He could hear the Jeep leaving and that was all that mattered.

He made another lunge and received a punch to his jaw for his efforts, stumbling further into the darkened alley they found themselves in. Perhaps that was just as well. They weren't that far from the gathered crowd and they didn't need any witnesses.

Derek backed up a couple of steps, Peter following with a smile on his lips.

"I assume you know who the girl is by now," Peter said, his eyes glowing red in the dim light. Derek clenched his jaw, still not very impressed by his uncle's habit of spewing monologues as soon as he got the opportunity. "And to answer the question you're no doubt dying to ask – yes, I did kill the Argent bitch. It wasn't even particularly difficult once I got her alone."

Peter shrugged, his smile playful and just shy of deranged. Derek inched backwards, trying to draw it out as much as possible. The longer he went without any serious injuries the better and Peter seemed to be in a talkative mood. He tried not to let the actual words get to him but Peter had always had a way of working his way under Derek's skin. It had taken him years before he understood just how sinister and malevolent Peter could be.

"I made her admit it, you know," Peter continued, almost casually. "What she did. I already knew some of the details – had to, in order to find them all – but I wanted to hear her say it, and with the right amount of applied pressure everyone breaks eventually. Oh, the things she told me, Derek."

Peter paused to give Derek a long, even look. Derek fell a chill travel down his spine.

"Oh yes, she definitely told me about... _that_." Peter spat out the word as if it was a curse all on its own. Derek stiffened. "Tell me, did Laura know? Did she know that her precious little brother was the reason that our family died? And that he continued to break her trust merely by existing-"

Derek reacted on instinct, attacking despite his better knowledge. Guilt, disgust and anger was burning in his gut but none of it was directed at Peter. Derek knew that it was his fault. He knew that he had failed Laura and the rest of his family – Peter included – and he was too ashamed to let Peter go on. It made him careless and sloppy.

Derek snarled when Peter closed his fingers around his throat and pushed him up against the closest wall. Even if he managed to land a firm knee in Peter's side it wasn't enough to allow him to break free. Claws dug into Derek's neck, cutting off his air supply.

"Do you have any idea how it made me feel, Derek, to hear those things from her?" Peter's eyes were burning with fury and blood started trickling down Derek's neck as those sharp claws dug deeper, cutting into flesh. A desperate, uncoordinated sweep with his arm was all Derek could manage but Peter caught his wrist and snapped the bone with one sharp, fluent movement. Derek barely managed to hold back his scream.

" _You_ are the cause for this, Derek," Peter continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted by Derek's feeble attempt to break free, "and I think it's time you paid for your mistakes."

Derek couldn't answer, not with the biting pain and lack of oxygen. Peter didn't seem to care.

"I think you know by now that I won't kill you, not until you've suffered like I have." Peter leaned closer, his breath fanning against Derek's cheek. "I watched my family die, right before my eyes, unable to do anything to stop it. I watched them _burn_ , Derek, while writing in agony. And after that I was forced to spend years alone, helpless and cut off from the world, a pathetic shell of a man."

Derek closed his eyes, knowing what was to come.

"And that's what I'll do to you. You might have already known the despair of being completely alone, but not the desperation you feel when you watch those you care about die."

Of course Derek did. He might not have been there during the fire but he lost them too. He grieved just as much as Peter did and he had been the one to find Laura's mangled body. Derek already knew that suffocating, crushing desperation. But it clearly wasn't enough for Peter.

"You came here to distract and stall me, so I'll give you what you want. I'll drag this out for as long as I possibly can," Peter growled, slamming Derek against the wall for emphasis. "But I'll leave you conscious enough to know what you've done – where I'll be going once I'm finished with you. I'll slaughter them all, Derek, and you won't be able to stop it. You'll know my pain then."

Derek somehow managed to growl despite the grip around his throat and he started bucking and twist to get out from Peter's hold. His wrist was healing and he wouldn't give up without a fight. Peter's expression turned into a smirk, tinged with the kind of darkness that had only seemed to grow within him since he woke up from his coma.

"You want to fight me? That's adorable." Peter snorted. "Fine, I'll give you a sporting chance."

When Peter suddenly released him and stepped back Derek wobbled before finding his balance. The punctures in his neck were throbbing, blood trickling down to ruin Stiles' t-shirt beyond saving.

"Come now, dear nephew. I gave you a chance so you better take it," Peter teased but his eyes were cold and unforgiving. Derek couldn't deny that Peter had reasons to be angry with him but Stiles and the others had nothing to do with that, and Allison was not to blame for the fire. But he knew that arguing that point wouldn't make a difference. Peter had made up his mind. And so had Derek.

He crouched lower, ignoring the literal holes in his neck, growling in response to Peter's smirk. Derek knew he couldn't win but he would hold out as long as he possibly could and then pray that whatever plan the others set up would work. He had to trust them to survive, even if he might not be as lucky.

Derek wasn't even sure how he got to his feet. He didn't know what drove him to stagger from the blood splattered alley, his breaths whistling in his chest and head spinning. He didn't know how much time had passed since Peter left but Derek knew that he had to follow. At first he couldn't remember why, just that something urged him to – a pull even stronger than that of his wolf. So he walked.

Once he reached the edges of town most of his broken bones had snapped into place, either because of the healing or him moving long before he actually should. His wolf was whining pathetically, but it too kept pushing him to move forward. One foot in front of the other.

_Hurry_.

The gashes weren't healing, not as fast as the fractures, but Derek tried to ignore them. The blood stung in his nostrils, heavy and metallic. His sense was slowly coming back to him, piece by agonizing piece. _HurryhurryhurryhurryHURRY_.

He took a deep breath, nearly falling over from the sharp pain in his chest, bracing himself against a tree. He coughed, blood spilling from his lips, staining the ground. _Pain_. Derek gritted his teeth before straightening. He had to keep going. _Hurry_.

It took several minutes of ungraceful stumbling before the severity of the situation caught up with him. _Stiles_. Despite how his body screamed in agony Derek forced himself to go faster – pushed himself to get there sooner. He didn't know what kind of head start Peter had gotten. He needed to catch up.

His wolf was worried and anxious, beaten and broken, just like Derek himself, but neither of them could give up. Not now. There might still be time. Derek didn't know if the clench in his chest was because of his injuries or something else. He just kept moving, uncoordinated stumbling turning into a limping walk, then a painful jog and finally a panicked run.

His heart was in his throat, fear coursing through him at the thought of what Peter would do. Of what he might already have done.

_Hurry_.

Derek could barely breathe, his limbs aching, but he couldn't stop, he needed to get there because _hurrydangerhurrysavehurrySTILES_.

Every time he tripped he scrambled to his feet, ignoring the blood that was dripping from his wounds. His bones were healed. He could run. He could still find them. He knew that he was close. His wolf was howling again.

He heard them before he saw them. The crash of glass breaking, burning flames. The Molotov cocktails. They were still alive – still fighting. Derek couldn't smell any blood but his own and spikes of Peter's. Good.

Then a howl – Peter's triumphant howl – and Derek nearly staggered to his knees. Triumph meant someone getting hurt, that someone might die. Derek ran faster.

"SCOTT!"

Allison. Scott was in danger. Derek didn't want either of them to die. A sudden, bright light up ahead, bathing the woods in white, leading the way.

"Scott! Run!" Derek recognized Lydia's voice. He was close. He could see them.

There was no time to stop and consider strategies and risks, not when Peter was swiping to reach Scott with his claws. Scott was crawling backwards, panicked, away from Peter's monstrous, twisted version of an alpha form. Derek didn't hesitate, lunging for Peter with a snarl, despite the difference in size and strength.

He managed to push Peter back, away from Scott, but was thrown off a second later. Derek didn't have enough strength to stop himself from crashing to the ground, tumbling several feet before coming to a stop. It was difficult to breathe and his arms shook when he tried to push himself up. He knew that he couldn't waste time, Peter would be on him again within seconds. Everything hurt.

Suddenly Stiles was there, filling Derek's world with his scent and touch. Hands pulling to get him to his feet and a frantically beating heart to match Derek's own. Stiles didn't say anything but he seemed to be vibrating with tension, supporting Derek's weight no matter how heavy it had to be. Derek was just glad to know that he was alive. Stiles was okay.

"Look out!"

Derek didn't even care who shouted the warning since he knew what was coming, even without Stiles stiffening beside him. Derek could feel it in his bones and the way his skin prickled – hear it in his wolf's alarmed bark – and he did the only thing he could do.

It was instinct to push Stiles to the ground and shield him from Peter's attack. Derek wasn't even sure if the claws had struck him at first. He floated in unawareness for a brief, blissful second, everything still and silent, before he suddenly shuddered involuntarily. Then came the pain. It flared in his back and burst through his ribcage, stealing his breath and locking his limbs. He would have screamed if he had had the ability, but now he could only stare down into Stiles' terrified face, watching a drop of his own blood land on Stiles' cheek. It felt unsettlingly macabre.

Something twisted inside Derek and he jerked, convulsing as another wave of pain hit him. _Spine_. His legs went numb. He couldn't breathe. It felt like his chest was bursting. Hands clenched around his borrowed t-shirt. Stiles. Derek's wolf was struggling, gasping out small, high pitched whines as it fought to stay alive. It was all happening so fast. Derek was trying not to let go, clinging to his consciousness in sheer desperation.

Cold was spreading inside him, chilling him to the bone. Stiles was there, horrified and wide-eyed, and Derek felt himself slipping. Falling. _Dying_.

Stiles' choked whimper was the last thing Derek heard before he felt himself go limp, unable to hold on. Unable to apologize. Unable to say what he should have days ago. There was only blackness, swallowing him whole. It was over.

His wolf had fallen silent.

_Power_.

Derek gasped, back arching off the cold ground and air suddenly rushing into his lungs again, burning, ripping and mending, all at once. His claws burrowed into the earth, holding on for dear life as _something_ surged through his body. It felt like being unmade, only to be pieced back together again. He tasted it on his tongue – sharp and fierce – felt it shooting through his veins. His wolf reared its head, suddenly overpowering, roaring and feral – triumphant.

_Power_.

Derek nearly choked on it, his wolf so much stronger than it had ever been before, pushing and demanding. Derek scrambled to catch up, forcing it back. It felt like breathing for the first time, everything sharper and stronger – better.

_Alpha_.

Derek ignored it. His wolf's roar wasn't the only one he heard. There was something else. Flames. Burning. _FiresmokedangerDANGER_.

"STILES!"

Someone was screaming.

It all snapped back into focus, his wolf slipping into place, stunned into obedience by the mere mention of that name. Stiles. Derek bit back a groan of pain and opened his eyes, struggled to get up from the ground, his body still weak and trembling. That's when he saw it.

The house was on fire.

Bright, flickering flames licked the already charred wood, setting the small clearing ablaze with its orange glow. Derek tried to breathe around his panic but there was no stopping it when he only saw three blurry shapes by the burning house. Stiles wasn't one of them. They were all staring at the raging flames with horror in their eyes. That could only mean one thing.

He was stumbling forward before he even got to his feet, his mind completely blank save for the crushing, nauseating fear. He had to find Stiles. If Stiles was in there somewhere Derek had to find him. Nothing else mattered.

He barely took notice of the other three.

"Derek! Jesus Christ we thought you wer-"

Derek didn't listen. He didn't care what Scott had to say, how he was suddenly there, hand gripping Derek's arm. Derek kept moving towards the house.

"No, wait! We've tried-"

Scott held him back, stepping in the way when Derek tried to get past.

"Derek, you can't! You'll die!" Lydia shouted.

Derek snarled, tearing free from Scott's grip, ignoring their attempts to stop him. He had to find Stiles. He leapt onto the porch, the new power surging through him, giving him the strength he needed to move. The flames scorched his skin when he dove into the house, heedless of what it would do to him. It didn't matter. If Stiles died then none of it mattered anyway.

The heat was nearly unbearable, the air thick, heavy and impossible to breathe without coughing. The fire was roaring in his ears, almost drowning out the sound of his own panicked heartbeats.

"STILES!" He wasn't sure if it could be heard above the groans and crackle from the fire but he had to try. He couldn't lose Stiles to it too, not in the same house as his murdered family. Anything but this. Not fire. Anything but fire.

Derek's lungs burned as he searched frantically for Stiles in the roaring inferno, crouching low more to avoid the flames and falling debris rather than to conserve oxygen. His desperation made him foolish. He didn't have much time.

The door to his room stood open, the fire swallowing Derek's meager possessions without mercy. Derek was heading for it before he knew it. Stiles would have sought shelter there – that little piece of heaven that they had shared what felt like a lifetime ago, even if it was just a day.

"STILES!" It was a croaked, hitched version of Derek's usual voice.

His entire being was aching when he moved, none of his injuries having healed completely. Derek didn't care. A badly burned body lay in front of Derek's bed, twisted and charred by the fire. Derek choked, trying to hold on to what little sanity he had left. He refused to believe that was Stiles. He would shatter completely if that was Stiles. Bile was rising in his throat. His wolf wailed.

The whimper was so soft that Derek wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been acutely aware of everything around him. His breath caught in his throat as he hastily dropped to his stomach after having shoved the carcass away. Peter's carcass. That had to be Peter.

Derek nearly whined from relief when he caught sight of Stiles hiding under the bed, pressed against the wall, streaked with soot and grime but alive. It was only a momentary relief when he took notice of the bad shape Stiles was in, barely conscious, his heartbeat weak and struggling from the smoke inhalation and lack of oxygen. Stiles wouldn't make it if he stayed in there much longer.

"Derek..." Stiles sounded happy – deliriously so – at the sight of him, as if he wanted nothing more in life, and Derek felt his heart clench. He had to get them out.

He extended his hand, trying but failing to reach Stiles under the bed.

"Take my hand!" Derek wasn't even ashamed of how panicked he sounded. If Stiles died everything would be lost. "Stiles, please hurry!"

Stiles seemed to frown before slowly, painstakingly, raising his hand to grab Derek's. Blood rushed in his ears but Derek could do nothing but watch as Stiles hand faltered, his fingers turning limp just as they brushed against Derek's. Everything stilled, Derek's mind screeching to a halt.

Stiles closed his eyes.

"NO!" Derek struggled to reach further, to wrap his fingers around Stiles' wrist. "Stiles! Stiles, you-... STILES!"

It couldn't be too late. It couldn't. Derek refused to accept it.

"Please, Sti-" His voice broke, swallowed by the wounded, desperate whine his wolf let out. It couldn't end like this.

His claws caught the sleeve of Stiles' hoodie and Derek pulled, for once heedless about scratching Stiles in the process. Saving his life took priority. It was shockingly easy to drag Stiles' weight across the floor, pulling him out from under the bed with frantic movements. Stiles was completely motionless, so incredibly still, and Derek didn't have time to stop and listen for his heartbeat.

The fire was roaring around them and even Derek was beginning to succumb to the stinging in his lungs, despite the advantage he got through his accelerated healing. They had to get out. He quickly bundled Stiles up in his arms, as tightly as he dared without also choking him, before heading for the closest window he knew wouldn't be boarded. He had left two of them uncovered in case he ever needed an alternative escape route.

Derek didn't allow himself to hesitate, twisting so that he hit the window shoulder and back first, shielding Stiles from the impact and shattering glass to the best of his ability. Derek took the brunt of the fall when they hit the ground, but he couldn't stop them from rolling a couple of feet, over the frozen leaves and shards of glass. Derek barely even felt the cuts. He quickly dragged Stiles further from the burning building, hearing surprised shouts and running footsteps. Derek was focused on Stiles, trying to cradle him as gently as possible. Derek was shaking so badly he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold on.

A high pitched whine made Derek's skin crawl and it took him a moment to realize that it came from him. And worse yet – he couldn't stop. Every exhale turned into a wounded, pathetic little whine as he and his wolf tried to make sure that Stiles was still alive. Derek ignored his burned, scorched fingers in his search for Stiles' pulse, trying to hold steady long enough to feel that comforting beat. His ears were ringing and he wasn't sure if he trusted his hearing with something that important.

"Scott! Get the car!" Lydia's voice sounded closer than Derek had been prepared for and he flinched back with a snarl.

She paused briefly, on her knees in front of them, her hand reaching for Stiles' shoulder. Derek wanted to break it. Stiles was hurt. No one could touch Stiles. _Protect Stiles_.

"Derek, we need to-"

"His eyes are red," Allison interrupted. "He's an alpha."

"I don't care, Allison! Shut up!" Lydia barked, her eyes never leaving Derek's. "Is he breathing?"

Derek swallowed before nodding. He felt the soft puffs of air against his fingertips. They were weak but there. Stiles was alive, if only barely. Derek whined again, his wolf joining in.

"Pulse?"

Another nod. Lydia was tense, her lips pressed together into a thin line, but she seemed to understand Derek's need to keep Stiles close, or was at least willing to find ways to work around it.

"Good. Carry him to the car."

Derek didn't have to be told twice even if he was unstable when he struggled to his feet, holding Stiles as carefully as he could. He could see burns on his own arms but they would heal. He was more concerned about Stiles and quickly followed the girls to the idling Jeep, Scott pale and worried in the driver's seat. Lydia climbed in after Derek, settling with him and Stiles in the back despite Derek's urge to growl at her. She gave him a sharp, reprimanding glare.

"Keep him steady," she ordered, as if he hadn't already planned to do that.

He zoned her out, focusing on Stiles and those frail, flickering heartbeats he could hear and feel against his fingertips. His entire world shrunk until it consisted of nothing but Stiles' heartbeat and gasping, struggling breaths. Derek clung to them both, knowing that he would drown without them.

His wolf was pacing, worried and unsettled, but at least they were cooperating now. Derek was in control despite the new surge of power, holding Stiles safely against his chest, counting the rhythm of Stiles' heart. Derek rested his forehead against Stiles', taking comfort in the puffs of air against his cheek – proof that Stiles was still alive. Still fighting.

Minutes passed – it might even have been hours for all Derek knew – in that enclosed, isolated existence of his. Only Stiles mattered.

Derek came back to the rest of the world with a jolt when Scott suddenly stepped on the brakes in front of the hospital's emergency entrance. Sounds, scents and sights rushed back into Derek's awareness, momentarily blindsiding him. He couldn't help snarling when Scott and Allison came to take Stiles from him. It was an instinctive reaction spurred on by his wolf's protectiveness, even if Derek knew that it was foolish.

Lydia was the first to reach out and Derek grabbed her wrist on a reflex. He didn't break it though, some part of him still recognizing how stupid that would be.

"Derek, you have to let them take him," Lydia said, voice calm and patient despite the flicker of fear in her eyes. She didn't try to pull out of his grip and maintained eye contact. Derek's wolf seemed strangely insulted by that. "Derek, you're covered in blood and burns and your face is transformed. You can't go in there with him. We don't have time for this."

Derek struggled to push back his instincts, nodding quickly as he let go of Lydia's wrist. She was right. He still felt reluctant when he handed Stiles over to Scott and had to hold back another helpless whine as he watched Scott and Allison head for the emergency entrance, Stiles supported between them.

To Derek's surprise Lydia stayed with him, one of her small hands landing on his burned, blood soaked shoulder. He was surprised that she even dared to touch him after what he almost did to her.

"It will take us twenty minutes to go back to the apartment. We'll get you cleaned up, find some new clothes and then we'll come straight back." Lydia was an oddly comforting presence in a situation of crisis, Derek realized with stunning clarity. "Will you be able to get your wolf under control by then?"

Derek nodded. He would have to. There might not be much he could do for Stiles now – it was up to the doctors – but he was going to be there when Stiles woke up. Because Stiles would definitely wake up. He had to. Stiles could not die.

"Great." Lydia exhaled sharply. "I'll drive."

Derek had no objections.

Keeping a vigil at Stiles' bedside was both excruciating and reassuring. Stiles was going to make it, Derek knew that much now, it was only a question of how much damage the smoke had done to his lungs and throat and that would be difficult to determine before he woke up and had time to heal. Scott, Allison and Lydia didn't seem to argue with the fact that Derek held one of Stiles' hands in his at all times, which he was grateful for, since it was the only thing he could do to ease Stiles' suffering. Shouldering Stiles' pain was a small burden compared to losing him.

None of them really talked, silence reigning over Stiles' hospital room as they waited for him to wake up. Lydia had taken it upon herself to call Stiles' dad – who was reportedly on the way – while Allison informed the hunters of what had happened and where to find whatever remains there might still be of Peter. Derek was surprised when she didn't mention him, especially considering how she kept eyeing him warily. He was an alpha now and she knew that – an even bigger threat than before. But she still kept quiet. Perhaps he had misjudged her.

Derek made sure to listen to everything the doctor said, just in case it would be important for Stiles' recovery, but otherwise spent most of his time just sitting there, waiting. His wolf didn't seem to mind. It felt most content close to Stiles, rumbling in Derek's chest like a slumbering guard dog. Even if he felt stronger – and knew that he was considering how quickly he had begun to heal from wounds that should have killed him – he still appeared to be the same. Power had driven Peter mad but Derek felt none of that pull. His focus was on Stiles and Stiles alone, his wolf agreeing wholeheartedly.

The first time Stiles woke up long enough to actually process where he was could have gone smoother. Derek didn't even know what Stiles had been looking for when he started struggling against Lydia's gentle hands but they had managed to calm him down before he hurt himself further. It was a special kind of agony watching Stiles in that hospital bed, helpless to offer anything but relief from the pain. Derek thought that he was going to break when Stiles started crying.

He wasn't sure who took most comfort from his grip around Stiles' hands after that – him or Stiles.

It became easier when Stiles woke the second time, more alert and aware of his surroundings, ready to face the doctors. Stiles suffered through the medical examinations and tests under stoic silence and while Derek wasn't allowed in the room during it he lingered just outside, his wolf too uneasy for him to wander further. Lydia brought him coffee while they waited but Derek only gave her a thankful nod, completely ignoring her knowing, teasing smile.

Stiles looked slightly better when they were allowed back inside his room, the prognosis cautiously optimistic even if the risk of infection was to be taken in consideration at all times. Scott made an impressive attempt at keeping them busy with mindless chatter but it felt strange not hearing Stiles talk back. It would take days before he could do that without pain, they had been told. Derek missed Stiles' voice already.

When Stiles' dad arrived Derek made sure to keep out of the way as much as possible. Partly because he could only imagine how worried the man had to be, but also because Stiles' dad didn't seem entirely too fond of Derek. Protectiveness, no doubt, and Derek snarled at his wolf to shut up and behave. If there was one person who could actually make some sort of claim on Stiles it was Sheriff Stilinski, not Derek.

Stiles seemed to have managed to ease some of the hostility during his first conversation with his dad but there was still a lot of suspicion there, setting Derek's teeth on edge. So Derek kept to the sidelines, but never too far away to help Stiles with the pain if he needed it. They still got time alone in the evenings, when Derek sneaked back after visiting hours were over and everyone else had gone home. He had been offered to sleep at the apartment, in Stiles' room, but it would feel hollow and bleak without Stiles there.

It wasn't until the day of Stiles' release that Derek actually talked directly to Stiles' dad, and then only because the man ambushed him by the vending machine. Well, Derek heard him approach but hadn't thought that he would actually be addressed until it was already happening.

"Stiles asked me to let you come home with us, to Beacon Hills, over Christmas."

Derek prided himself in not flinching, slowly turning to face the other man. His wolf was bristling but Derek made sure to hold it back. The sheriff didn't know about werewolves and Derek wasn't going to risk flashing his eyes just because he felt intimidated by Stiles' dad.

He received a raised eyebrow when he didn't answer the sheriff's statement, but it wasn't to be rude – he just didn't know what to say.

"Okay," he replied eventually. He hadn't been aware of Stiles' wish to have Derek come with them. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea, truth be told. Stiles and his dad would probably need some time to themselves and Derek didn't want to intrude.

"He likes you. A lot."

Derek felt a shiver of both delight and embarrassment. He was obviously a lovesick teenager and averted his eyes while clearing his throat. Awkward didn't even begin to cover it, but the sheriff continued before Derek had time to make an even bigger fool of himself.

"And that, naturally, puts me in a position where I have to make a decision on what _I_ think of you." The sheriff's voice was stern and unreadable and Derek felt his heart sink. That couldn't be good. He didn't exactly come off as trustworthy and reliable. "So, besides from the fact that you're already wearing my son's clothes I have to ask what kind of relationship the two of you have."

Derek looked up, meeting the man's gaze, knowing better than to flinch away from something like this. His wolf would no doubt be disgusted with him if he showed that kind of weakness.

"It's new. But mutual." Derek wasn't comfortable using words like love in front of someone he barely knew, not when he hadn't even said it to Stiles yet. He still wasn't sure when – or if – he would ever dare to do that.

"So you like him too? And it's not just a whim?"

Derek felt his hackles rise.

"Would I have stayed at his bedside for days if it was?"

A small smile seemed to spread on the sheriff's lips, as if he had known all along that that would be Derek's answer. The sheriff's posture relaxed to the point where Derek's wolf felt it safe to settle down, no longer seeing Stiles' dad as a potential threat.

"No, I guess you wouldn't have." A slow exhale. "So I'm giving my approval, if you want to come with us. You've shown enough devotion to at least earn that much trust from me."

It shouldn't have made him proud to hear that. Derek wanted to claim that he had no reason to want or need Stiles' dad's approval but the lie sounded flat even in his own ears.

"But I'll be keeping an eye on you," the sheriff continued, "and if you hurt him you won't even know what hit you, you got that?"

Derek felt unease crawl slowly down his spine but he figured that it was only natural when you were being threatened with such conviction and sincerity.

"Yes, sir."

Derek received a nod and a pat on his shoulder, which felt much more comforting than it should have, considering that Derek barely knew the man.

"Then we'll get along just fine, son."

It was only through sheer force of will that Derek managed to hold back his flinch at the sheriff's strangely affectionate way of addressing him. It took Derek by surprise and made something long forgotten stir in his chest. Derek desperately pushed it aside in favor of nodding.

He wasn't sure if Stiles' dad would approve once they told him about werewolves, but if Derek was lucky the sheriff would be as forgiving as his son. Stiles had taken the news of Derek being an alpha with astounding ease.

To his infinite surprise Derek realized that he really wanted Stiles' dad to like him, if only because it would make it easier to stay with Stiles. But it was, in all honesty, more than that.

It was the hand that lingered on his shoulder until Derek found himself relaxing under the weight. It was the way the sheriff turned them towards the vending machine and asked if he could get a piece of whatever Derek was getting because they were out of Stiles' ear- and eyeshot, which was the only time he dared to eat unhealthy things. And it was definitely there in the unexpected smile Derek found himself giving Stiles' dad when he offered a taste of his chips, which earned him a quick squeeze by a warm hand at the back of his neck.

Derek should have been too old to crave something like that – he didn't deserve a family after what he did to his own – but it was surprisingly difficult to remember why. He should have felt insulted for being treated like a child, perhaps even guilty for allowing it, but found himself unable to. It was one of the few genuine and nice gestures Derek had been given during the last couple of years of his life. He had no intention of being ungrateful.

Besides, it was practically impossible not to revel in the breathtakingly satisfying feeling of being called 'son' again.

Going to Beacon Hills with Stiles and his dad proved to be a good idea, even if Derek had been against it at first. He didn't want to intrude or be some sort of pity case that they felt they needed to take care of now that he didn't have a home. Derek hadn't taken that nearly as hard as Stiles had.

Granted that Derek didn't exactly enjoy the thought of his last remaining family member burning to death and his only safe haven being destroyed, but there was also something strangely cathartic about it. As if a chapter of his life had been closed, finally giving way for a new one. Derek didn't feel less guilty about his family's demise or the things he had done, but he was out from under Peter's influence and could start acclimatizing to living with the general population again. Which, in all honesty, was a lot trickier than strictly reasonable.

At least Derek got enough practice during Stiles' hospital visit not to seem like a complete idiot once they were actually out in public again. Usually Derek just played it safe and waited a second or two before reacting or replying to anything, just to avoid misunderstandings and miscommunication. Little by little he got back into the swing of things and started to relax even when strangers were present. Stiles seemed to appreciate the new freedom it offered.

Stiles wanted to show Derek everything, almost as if he thought that Derek had never seen the outside world – which was just ludicrous, it was only the last five years he had missed – but a part of him understood that it was just Stiles being Stiles. He was determined to show Derek what his life was about, now that Derek had the opportunity. Derek had never seen so many obscure and strange movies in his entire life, but he still enjoyed them, since they were Stiles' favorites and they always watched them together, wrapped around each other in one formation or another on the couch.

It was unexpectedly peaceful, being with the Stilinskis during the holidays. The sheriff warmed up to Derek within a couple of days, especially once the shock of the whole werewolf reveal wore off and there were no more secrets between them. It seemed to make Stiles' dad more at ease, strangely enough, even if he was still obviously struggling to grasp the existence of the supernatural. Derek would have kept out of the way if the sheriff hadn't insisted on getting to know him.

Derek secretly loved it.

To his surprise he didn't feel as misplaced as the thought that he would. Both Stiles and his dad seemed to make space for Derek in their house and lives. It wasn't perfect or flawless but definitely more than Derek had had in years. It seemed so obvious that he would stay with them, one way or another.

When the Stilinskis went to the cemetery during Christmas Day Derek got some time to process his own loss. He couldn't say that he didn't mourn Peter, but it wasn't exactly something he felt a need to cry or mope about either. It felt strange, more than anything, for him to be gone all of a sudden. Even when he was in a coma Peter had still been there, static and constant. Now he wasn't. That was the part Derek had the hardest time swallowing.

The transferred alpha powers were another. Derek hadn't asked for them – never would have after having spent five years out of tune with his own wolf – and being so much stronger left him uneasy considering how completely Peter had gone off the rails. But all it took for Derek's fears to settle was a smile or a soft touch from Stiles, Derek's wolf soaking up the attention like an excited puppy. It was embarrassing really but as long as Stiles kept him and his wolf grounded Derek couldn't complain.

All in all being an alpha wasn't all that different from being a beta – or so Derek thought until he saw Isaac.

Derek felt humbled when Stiles brought him to his mother's grave. Derek knew how carefully Stiles guarded that part of himself and it felt like a privilege to be allowed to be a part of it, to know that Stiles trusted him that much. There wasn't much Derek could do to make Stiles feel better, but Stiles seemed to appreciate the effort all the same.

It was on the way back to the Jeep that they saw Isaac and Derek knew that had he been a beta he wouldn't have given him a second glance – wouldn't have had a reason to. But now, with the new power surging through his veins and that unidentifiable need to find security and stability – _pack_ – Isaac stood out.

Some people carried their loneliness like a shield, to protect themselves from further harm and deflect unwanted attention, while others let it shine like a beacon, mostly unintentional, just begging someone to take notice. Isaac was of the latter category.

It didn't surprise Derek to hear about the abuse. There were signs of it in Isaac's posture – the way he hunched his shoulders and the flickering glances, as if expecting a threat to approach any given second. Derek's wolf took a surprising interest in Isaac. It was purely platonic of course, connected to the need to build a pack, nothing else, but the choice was a little odd. Derek would have thought that his wolf wanted a strong pack and a victim of child abuse seemed like the opposite of that. But the more Derek thought about it the more sense it made.

His wolf didn't want followers or subjects – it wanted a family. Strength was secondary to loyalty and stability was best achieved not through force but mutual respect and understanding. The pack Derek's wolf wanted to build was all about belonging and finding a home, not taking pity or rescuing those that were weaker than him. Derek could offer a new chance to those who kept fighting, despite everything that had happened to them. Just like him. He could give them somewhere to belong.

Stiles was cautious but still optimistic and took to Isaac with a slightly frightening ease. Stiles, as opposed to Derek, actually _did_ like taking care of people and Isaac seemed in sore need of some affection. Stiles was wise enough to offer it through invites to movie nights – which Isaac agreed to after a brief moment of hesitation – instead of hugs or cuddles though.

Even if it didn't take more than a day after they had told him about it for Isaac to agree to the bite there was still a lot of politics involved that Derek would rather not have dealt with, which might have been why he pushed that responsibility over on Stiles. He didn't feel too bad – Stiles was obviously already included in the pack and took it as his duty to make it run smoothly. Besides, he was way better at it.

Derek was still the one who ended up being interrogated by Stiles' dad.

It shouldn't have surprised him, he guessed, that the sheriff would have something to say on the matter of people in his county being bitten and turned into werewolves, especially considering the risks it involved. Isaac could die or turn rampant as soon as he changed for the first time. Derek wished that he would have been better at selling his point – it had been easy with Isaac but Sheriff Stilinski saw it differently, probably on accounts of being a reasonable adult.

The thing that in the end tipped the scale in Derek's favor was the fact that he only wanted to give Isaac somewhere to feel safe. Stiles' dad looked tired and worn at that and admitted that he had always known about the abuse but without evidence or Isaac pressing charges there was nothing he could do. Derek offered a solution that was beyond what the law could accomplish and even if the sheriff didn't like it he eventually agreed. Reluctantly.

Derek knew that he didn't technically need Stiles' dad's approval – it was Isaac's decision – but it felt stupid to knowingly do something if it meant angering the man. Not to mention that Stiles couldn't lie to his father even if his life depended on it, and the sheriff would have noticed if more werewolves suddenly started hanging around his son. It was just easier that way, and meant that Derek didn't have to lose whatever of the sheriff's trust he had earned. Derek was very keen not to disappoint another person in his life who was only trying to look out for him.

The hunters were another problem but Derek and Stiles both decided that if they kept a low profile they would pass unnoticed. Not to mention that they would leave Beacon Hills once New Years had passed since Stiles needed to get back to school. Isaac would come with them.

It was the only thing even resembling a demand that Isaac had given, and it had really been more of a request than anything. Not a plea – far from it, because Isaac still had pride despite his father's handiwork – but a hope for something better. They couldn't exactly deny him that, even if it put more pressure on Derek to find someplace to live on rather short notice, but since there were still active bank accounts in his name it wasn't too big of an issue. Derek had lived as a recluse but was still considered alive and well in the eyes of the state and his bank. Although there was naturally some backlog and administrative issues to wade through first.

When it was time for them to leave Derek and Stiles went over to Isaac's to help him pack his belongings. Derek wasn't sure if it was good or bad that Isaac's father wasn't there since it meant that all Isaac left was a note saying that he had moved out and gave no indication as to where he would be going. Derek wasn't sure if it offered the kind of closure Isaac might be needing but he decided not to question it. Isaac was old enough to decide that himself.

Once back Derek rented a loft with thick steel doors and strong brick walls in a rather isolated part of town, and despite how unrefined it looked Derek quite liked it. There was a kind of solidity in the walls that he enjoyed after the years spent in a rotting, crumbling house. It made him feel safe. Not to mention that it came in handy when the full moon rolled around.

Derek didn't bite Isaac until they were already settled in at the loft and Isaac assured him and Stiles both that he hadn't changed his mind. Derek was secretly pleased. He wouldn't have tossed Isaac out even if he decided that he didn't want the bite, but it was comforting to know that Isaac was sure, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this was what he wanted. He wanted to be a part of their pack.

Derek's wolf howled in triumph.

They found Erica three months later during one of their visits to Beacon Hills. At first Derek had considered not going but Stiles had pointed out that his dad would be insulted and perhaps even a little sad if he didn't. Isaac was guilted into coming through similar methods and Derek really never found out if it was Stiles or his dad who had cracked that brilliant plan.

It was as unexpected as seeing Isaac the first time, only this happened when they stood in line to satisfy Stiles' apparent craving for the best curly fries on either side of the Mississippi. Never mind that Stiles had never actually been on the other side of Mississippi. Derek listened to Stiles' rant about the best curl to fry ratio with half an ear – mostly because he was pretty sure that wasn't even a thing – but stopped short when they reached the cash register and Erica stood behind it.

She seemed to know Stiles judging on the way her heart skipped a beat but she got it under control soon enough, possibly because her expression was nostalgic rather than something Derek actually needed to worry about. He told his wolf to shut up and behave, because underneath the first flare of possessiveness at her interest in Stiles Derek recognized the potential in her.

Her head was held high despite the slight hunch to her shoulders, as if she was carrying a weight but refused to let it break her entirely. She had determination and an underlying stubbornness – fierceness – that made Derek's wolf hum. And while she was dressed in the standard uniform she had done her hair with care, as if she valued how it would set her apart from her colleagues, even if it was obvious that working at a fast food restaurant wasn't exactly making it easy for her to _keep_ her hair looking nice.

The epilepsy bracelet spoke an entire story on its own.

Stiles recognized the look on Derek's face by then and before he even had time to suggest it they were going through the same procedure as with Isaac, the only difference being that Erica was a bit more hesitant. That seemed to have more to do with Stiles than the werewolf part of the equation however, and Derek was surprised when it got resolved the moment she saw Stiles sneak a kiss from Derek. He had thought that it would only make her more uncomfortable if anything, especially considering how completely oblivious Stiles was to the whole thing and what kind of feelings she had obviously been harboring for him at some point in their lives. High school, Derek assumed.

But she had only smiled softly, leaned closer to Derek and explained that she was just happy to see that Stiles hadn't ended up with Lydia. It made very little sense to him but, then again, Derek had never claimed to understand women or matters of the heart. So he had only nodded gravely and that had been all they ever said on the matter.

Erica took to her new life with the optimism of someone who had desperately wanted to get away from her shackles, be they physical or just metaphorical. She opted for an own apartment, a job as a bartender – where Derek suspected that she earned more in tip than the entire establishment did on actual drinks – and various classes at the same college as Stiles.

She never really got along with Lydia but Derek wasn't going to touch that with a ten foot pole.

Derek met Boyd at the college campus when he was waiting for Stiles to finish one of his classes a month later. Boyd was different from the other two in that he almost seemed indifferent to his own loneliness, as if he had grown into it. Accepted it. And there was something else there, a kind of guilt – possibly survivor's guilt – that reminded Derek of himself. The similarities between them were almost unsettling, as a matter of fact.

Maybe that was why Boyd didn't immediately flinch back when Derek took a seat opposite to him at the picnic table, Boyd's books and papers spread out on top of it. Boyd just looked up, calm and somewhat wary, but stable. Perhaps he saw their similarities too. Derek didn't doubt for a second that Boyd was clever enough to catch up on something like that.

Derek had let Stiles do the talking with the other two, mostly because Derek didn't _do_ talking, but he knew instinctively that he would have better luck with Boyd. This was someone more like Derek – someone he could understand and relate to better.

By the time Stiles joined them half an hour later Derek was sure about wanting Boyd in their pack. The fact that it turned out that Boyd too hailed from Beacon Hills was too big of a coincidence to seem likely, but it didn't exactly matter in the long run. Boyd was there on a scholarship and while he and Stiles vaguely recognized each other they had apparently not been friends despite going to the same high school.

Stiles had no objections to Boyd joining them, no doubt noticing just how much Derek wanted it. While it was still a matter of giving a home and sense of belonging to those who needed it Derek was pretty certain that _the pack_ needed Boyd. He would balance out Erica's intensity and Isaac's snarky wit, and perhaps even withstand Lydia's special brand of bitchiness. Derek couldn't actually say for sure if Lydia was a part of the pack or not but she was, at the very least, a permanent fixture in their lives.

It took longer to convince Boyd and they did their best not to pressure him too much. Boyd was too practical to agree to something life-altering without carefully thinking it through first. Derek respected that even if his wolf got impatient and restless after a week went by without Boyd's answer.

It was Erica who convinced him in the end and Derek wasn't surprised when Boyd left his dorm room to move in with Erica in her apartment. He seemed more at home there and after a week in Erica's company his smiles seemed less empty – not as lost – and Derek said nothing about it, even if Stiles was grinning like a moron.

The first time Jackson approached Derek he and Stiles ended up saying no. First of all because Jackson acted as if they knew him, which they didn't, no matter if Jackson and Stiles had gone to the same high school. Which, according to Stiles, wasn't exactly in Jackson's favor considering what a bully he had been. Second because Derek didn't like the way it was more of a demand than a request.

He didn't blame Lydia for telling her boyfriend about werewolves – they had discussed it and Stiles and Derek had agreed that it was better if Jackson knew if he was going to be around the pack when he came to visit Lydia – but for Jackson to act as if he was entitled to something he wasn't made Derek's wolf bristle. Not to mention that Jackson completely missed the fact that Stiles was a bigger part of the decision making than he gave him credit for and treated him with enough disrespect to make Derek growl.

Jackson was too unstable, volatile and unpredictable and Derek told him as much. It didn't go over well, but that wasn't exactly a surprise.

The second time Jackson came to Derek he was definitely less confident – more humble – but still missing the big picture. It wasn't about submitting or placating Derek until he agreed, it was about wanting to belong and being willing to leave yourself vulnerable enough to fit in without actually changing who you were. It was about trust, devotion and an understanding of what unity really meant – what pack meant.

Jackson didn't understand when Derek tried to explain, which might partly have been Derek and his social ineptitude's fault, but Jackson was also less angry when Derek denied him that time. Derek didn't even bother to ask Stiles, knowing that Stiles would have said no as well. Jackson left looking disappointed, his jaw tightly clenched, but there was a thoughtful look in his eyes, as if something Derek said might actually have hit home.

Next time Jackson visited Lydia he came over to Derek's loft and without prompting told him that ever since he found that he was adopted he had no idea where he belonged, constantly seeking recognition, approval and respect. Derek listened in silence while Jackson talked, words falling in a steady stream until he eventually seemed to run out, breathless and wide-eyed. While there was a lot in there that Derek didn't understand or could relate to the core of the problem was simple – Jackson wanted a home too. And what he saw in the pack, the closeness and unconditional devotion, was something he craved.

Derek took a deep breath, placed his hands on Jackson's shoulder and promised to talk to Stiles, but made no promises. Jackson seemed to slump, but in relief rather than disappointment. Derek also made sure to talk to Lydia, just to make sure that she was aware of what Jackson was getting himself into. She only rolled her eyes and told them to get on with it so that Jackson would stop bitching.

Two days later the pack gained another member and while Jackson still lived further away he came to visit more frequently, and Derek and Stiles occasionally came with Lydia when she went to Jackson in turn.

Jackson had a hard time settling down in the pack, his personality full of sharp edges and biting insults, but it got better in time, when Jackson eventually stopped seeing them as competition he had to best somehow. That particular epiphany would probably have come sooner if Derek had allowed himself to act on his instincts to simply _force_ Jackson to conform, but he had a feeling that Stiles would have disliked it and therefore didn't. Growling whenever Jackson was rude seemed to do the trick as well, if a bit slower.

All in due time.

Derek had never thought that he would find himself building an own pack. He had never planned to become an alpha and shoulder that kind of responsibility. He was too stubborn and rigid to offer anything but strict discipline and tough love, sprinkled with trust issues and a hostility he still couldn't quite get rid of. He would have been a crap alpha and turned his pack miserable within weeks. Or at least that was what he suspected would have happened, if he hadn't had Stiles.

There was never any question that it was _their_ pack. They shared responsibility over it and where Derek was unrelenting and harsh Stiles was flexible and affectionate. It was a team effort that wouldn't have worked without either of them, and while it was a delicate balance – not without its stumbles – it worked for them. The pack thrived.

It was still a little awkward whenever Allison and Scott visited, since they were less integrated with the rest of the pack and everyone knew about Allison being a hunter. But she never once hinted that she had any intention of telling her family about them, since the alpha responsible for Kate's death was already dead and buried. They had no reason to search further vengeance.

Derek and Stiles made sure to let everyone know that both Scott and Allison were always welcome.

For each decision they made together the more grateful Derek became. It wasn't that Stiles was somehow immune to failure, that would just have been ridiculous, but it was about how much _better_ Derek was with Stiles at his side. He took the time to think one step further than usual, actually considered things that might not matter to him but certainly did to others, and he knew that he was a better alpha because of it. And Stiles, in turn, seemed to treasure his position as the sticky glue holding them all together. He seemed happy, and seeing Stiles happy made Derek and Derek's wolf happy.

It was still a little embarrassing how long it took for Derek to actually say out loud that he loved him. Not that he had to – it wasn't like Stiles didn't already know considering the unconditional devotion Derek showered him with – and he probably wouldn't have said it at all, if it hadn't been completely by accident. Derek didn't have the courage to plan something like that.

As it was now it just slipped out, one morning in Stiles and Lydia's apartment when Stiles sat by the table, legs wrapped around the pins of the high bar stool, munching on some cereal. Derek turned around from having his coffee refilled and froze in place, just staring at Stiles and his tousled bed hair, the t-shirt that was decidedly Derek's and the way Stiles wrinkled his nose at something he read in the paper spread out before him. It was then it hit Derek full force. It was then he finally understood what he had – exactly how lucky he had been.

It wasn't just Stiles and his presence, but a strong, stable pack – a family – and none of that would have been possible without Stiles. This spastic, flaky human distractedly slurping down cereal and milk while reading the morning news was Derek's salvation. And he was absolutely beautiful with all his little quirks and flaws, even when they left Derek feeling frustrated and exasperated. Stiles was more than Derek deserved but everything he would ever want.

Derek had never felt so grateful in his entire life.

"I love you."

Stiles froze, spoon halfway to his mouth, and luckily enough for them both he had no milk to spit out, since he most certainly would have otherwise. Stiles' eyes went wide as he looked up at Derek, clearly wondering whether he had actually heard what he thought that he had heard. Derek didn't dare to repeat it but Stiles seemed to be able to read the words in Derek's expression.

A wide, giddy grin broke out on Stiles' face but he didn't say anything, not at first. That was more restraint that Stiles usually showed and Derek felt an unsettled squirm in his gut.

"I told you it was a good idea to let me stick around," Stiles said after another moment, replacing the spoon in his bowl.

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes, but a part of him hadn't expected anything else from Stiles. It was when he moved to walk past Stiles that a hand shot out, fingers curling around Derek's shirt. He stopped, giving Stiles a questioning quirk of one of his eyebrows. Stiles' smile when he looked up at him was soft and intimate. Derek wouldn't have been able to move even if he so wanted.

Stiles' eyes were almost golden in the morning sunlight streaming in through the window, a hickey peeking out from underneath the collar of the t-shirt Stiles had obviously borrowed from Derek. Stiles was so beautiful that Derek didn't even know where to begin describing him.

"I love you too."

Derek took a slow breath, urging his heart to start beating again. His wolf was humming softly, content and happy, curled up at the back of Derek's head. It didn't seem interested in disturbing for once. He raised his hand, running his fingers through Stiles' hair before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. Stiles grip unfurled, his hands wandering higher on Derek's chest, warm, familiar and secure.

Yeah, this was definitely everything Derek would ever need.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand we're done! :D I hope you enjoyed it!  
> There was quite a few new scenes in this one and I had so much fun writing them! This part takes you far longer than Stiles', yes, because building the pack is obviously very important to Derek and therefore something I wanted to include. Not to mention that I didn't want to leave the baby betas alone and miserable. And no, I did not turn Scott into a werewolf because from what I've gathered from the show he doesn't actually want it, so he wouldn't ask for it either.
> 
> I hope you had fun with this monster of mine and maybe I'll see you some other time! :D
> 
> And, once again, a thank you to my beta [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum), and you can find me over at my [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/) for more updates on coming fics etc.


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